Going Through The Motions
by Hank's Lady
Summary: Travis Bickle finds himself in Gotham City after spending 5 years in Arkham, after being arrested for "vigilantism" in New York. He's allocated city housing in the apartment block where Arthur Fleck lives. When 2 screwed up characters get to know each other, will there be any hope for them as a couple? M/M Travis/Arthur
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I changed out of the white pyjamas I'd lived in for the past five years, and put on the clothes I was told were mine, which I barely recognised—blue jeans, a white shirt, green military style jacket, and cowboy boots. After so long in the same outfit, this almost seemed like fancy dress. I stared at myself in the small mirror on the wall of the room that had been my home. The only thing I recognised about myself was the mohawk, which I'd insisted the barber keep styling for me every time he cut my hair. It was the only thing that was still me.

The next hour passed almost like a dream—signing forms, receiving keys and an address for the place I was told would be my new home. I was given an envelope, too, which apparently contained something to help me start up again in the real world, and a bag with medication inside. I barely registered what the doctor was saying.

Suddenly, I was outside on the damp street, staring back at the closed door of Arkham. I fingered the scar on my neck, only dimly aware of how I came to have that. It seemed so long ago—shooting, being shot, waking up with my wrists cuffed to the sides of a hospital bed, while they pumped someone else's blood into me. I'd often wondered why the system would bother to save me, when it cost them a fortune to keep me locked up and medicated, counselled and fed for so long. A few more minutes and I'd have been dead, and they could have saved all that money. Now they were paying for housing for me, too. At least for six months.

I looked at the address on the folded paper in my hand. I had no idea where it was. I knew nothing about the city I now resided in. I started to walk, gazing about me at the dirty streets, bags of rubbish rotting in the gutters, homeless people sitting in doorways. It was worse than New York.

I kept walking, trying to remember what the doctor had told me. A couple of miles east, high rise apartment buildings, long flights of steps up. I didn't even know if I was heading east, but tall buildings were visible in the distance. I kept going and passed a couple of boarded up stores, failed businesses that had left their premises to be looted and smashed up. Farther along the street, a music store was about to suffer the same fate. A clown danced out front, holding a sign to announce a closing down sale.

I stepped off the footpath into the street to pass him, taking in the bright green wig and painted fake red smile as I walked by. He glanced my way and green eyes surrounded by painted blue diamonds met mine. He faltered in his dance and took a step back, then looked away and lifted the sign above his head, spinning it around.

I walked on, scuffing the heels of my boots on the cracked concrete. What would I do now I was out of the hospital? They seemed to think I would make it, but what was the point? I had nothing. I had no one. Even my one friend, Wizard, was in another city, probably still driving his yellow cab. He might not even remember me now.

It took me a couple of hours to find the apartment building. Eventually, I stumbled upon what looked like an endless flight of steps leading up to the heavens, and I trudged up them, assuming they would lead to my destination. At the top, another dirty, rubbish-filled street led to the towers with their graffiti-covered lower walls and boarded-up ground floor windows. It looked like a hell-hole. Something I had plenty of experience of.

I walked in and stood in front of the lift door. I didn't bother to press the button—the car could be heard whirring and clanking as it travelled either up or down. I waited, until eventually the door slid open. A young woman with a little girl stepped out, eyed me warily, and hurried out of the building. Shrugging, I got in the lift, checked the paper in my hand, and pressed the button for the eighth floor.

The corridor was dark and gloomy, with at least half of the lights blown, and no windows to let in any natural light. I unlocked the door of the apartment I'd been allocated, and flicked the switch on the wall inside. A bare bulb suspended from the ceiling clicked on, showing me a threadbare carpet and an equally worn couch. A couple of wooden units and a table completed the furnishings. I closed the door and looked around the rest of the rooms—a bedroom with a double bed, a folded pile of old but clean bedding on the end of it; a bathroom with bath, sink, and toilet; a small kitchen with a fridge, a cooker, and a few cupboards. A quick investigation revealed a small number of plates, bowls, and mugs, some cutlery, and a few old pans.

The place was no worse or better than my place in New York had been. At least it was bigger. In New York, I'd had a studio—a single room with everything crammed in, attached to a tiny shower and toilet room, barely big enough to turn around in.

I sat on the couch and looked in the bag I'd been given. There were the two journals I'd been writing in, a couple of pens, and some orange pots with white lids, containing my medication. I put it aside and looked at the brown envelope I'd been given, which had my name scrawled on the front in untidy lettering—Travis.

I tore open the envelope and shook out the contents. A handful of bills fluttered into my lap and to the carpet. They were small denominations, totalling no more than a hundred bucks. Besides them was a bank book—mine, from before. There was also a cheque and a letter. The cheque was for two thousand and the letter accompanying it was addressed from a law firm in New York. My father, whom I'd had nothing to do with since before I joined the marines, had died while I was in Arkham. With no one else to leave his meagre estate to, I was the recipient. He was probably turning in his grave. He'd disowned me when he found out I liked boys as much as I liked girls.

After a few more minutes staring at the blank, dingy walls around me, I went out again. I had no specific plan, but when I returned to the apartment two hours later, I'd banked the cheque, and spent the cash on two bags of groceries and toiletries, some new socks, underwear, and a spare shirt, and a little black and white portable television. I plugged it in, found a show to watch, and made some cheese sandwiches.

I barely moved from the couch for the next several hours, except to refill my coffee mug and visit the bathroom. My insomnia was worse than it had been in the hospital. There, they gave me more drugs to knock me out and keep me quiet. Now, I had nothing but my anti-depressants and a weak sleeping pill that was supposed to help me sleep, but only made me drowsy. My thoughts kept me awake, as I started to remember all the things I'd forgotten over the past five years.

Eventually, I must have fallen asleep. I'd noted the time of three o'clock when the TV channel I was watching shut down for the rest of the night. After that, I didn't remember watching another show, but I opened my eyes and found myself half lying on the couch, my neck bent over the arm and painfully locked. The TV screen was hissing with static. I straightened up painfully and rubbed my neck, my thumb quickly find the scar. For the thousandth time, I wondered why they'd kept me alive. What use was I? What did I have to look forward to? I could have forty or fifty years left, for what? Going through the motions.

I made more coffee, pulled out my most recent journal and a pen, and began to write, short abrupt sentences describing my release from Arkham, my new apartment, and the blank canvas that was my life lying ahead of me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I made my third—or was it the fourth—cup of coffee and tipped some cereal into a cracked bowl. Later, I took a bath, dressed, and headed out again. My hours of thinking had reminded me that I had six months to sort out some way of earning money, before my free ride came to an end. So long as I went to my counselling sessions, they'd give me my prescriptions, but I'd be homeless if I wasn't employed.

I called into a diner for more coffee with my last few coins, and quizzed the waitress, after I convinced her I wasn't about to rob the place. I supposed my appearance didn't encourage people to be friendly. But she told me I could visit the local taxi office if I walked six blocks or buy a reasonable used car three blocks farther down from that. All I'd ever done—besides being a marine—was drive a taxi. I'd worked for a yellow cab company in New York, although I doubted they'd give me a reference. My vigilantism had been all over the press after I left Sport's house a bloodbath.

"Yes, can I help you?"

I shook myself, realising I'd walked all the way to the taxi office and approached the counter, lost in thought. The middle-aged man behind the desk stared at me through narrowed eyes.

"I'm looking for a job. I was a taxi driver in New York for a few years."

"Looking like that?" His brows drew together until they met in the middle.

I bit my lip. "I can wear a hat," I offered.

One of the man's eyebrows crawled upwards. "We don't have any vacancies."

"I'm a marine vet," I said, guessing it would be in vain.

"Really." He pursed up his lips. "Get out of here, buddy."

I turned away and let what I'd hoped was a pleasant expression slip into a scowl. The door slammed closed behind me and I hovered in front of the building, gazing up and down the busy street. Several yellow cabs passed, and so did a couple of independents—large cars with simple "TAXI" signs stuck on the sides.

As I walked back towards the apartments—the place I should think of as home—one of the independent taxis pulled up close by to let a passenger out. I stooped to look through the window.

"Hey, pal."

"You need a ride?" the Asian driver asked me.

"No. Thanks. Do you have a cab license?"

"Are you a cop?" His eyes took on a look of alarm.

"No. Just interested in setting up myself. Do the cops bother you much?"

"Not often." He smiled. "Occasionally you get one with a chip on his shoulder, who'll jump on you for the slightest thing."

"Is there much competition?"

"Some, but most drivers prefer to go through the official channels and work for the yellow cabs. Then you have your weekly rent for the car, fuel costs, license, and a hundred and one rules and regulations. Get your own car, set your own prices. I undercut the yellows by about twenty percent and still make a decent profit. Car's my own, you see, so no rental. Only the initial outlay and running costs."

"Thanks, my friend." I grinned at him and stuck my hand through the window to shake his. "My name's Travis."

"Good to meet you, Travis. I'm Jazz. I'm knocking off any time now. You want to get a beer or something?"

"That'd be good, but some other time. I'm new around here, just getting set up. I couldn't even shout one round." I shrugged and smiled awkwardly.

"I can get you a beer. You can just owe me one. Hop in." He shoved open the passenger side front door.

"Thanks." I got in the car. Perhaps Jazz could give me some more tips about taxi driving in Gotham. I might even make a friend. I could use one.

Two hours later, with two beers giving me a pleasant fuzzy feeling, I made my way up the steps to my building. I had Jazz's phone number and he'd promised to meet me at the used car garage at the end of the week when my cheque had cleared, to help me get a good deal. He'd bought two cars from that garage and knew the dealer well enough not to get ripped off or be sold a lemon.

I punched the button to call the lift and waited impatiently, shuffling my feet as it rattled its way down the lift shaft. Eventually, the doors opened, and I stepped in. I'd just touched the button for the eighth floor, when someone called out.

"Hold it, please!"

I stuck my foot out and held the doors open until the young woman and child I'd seen the day before came into view, hurrying and struggling with bags of groceries. She hesitated, eyes wide in alarm as she stared at me.

"I don't bite," I said and smiled. "It's just a haircut."

Her dark skin flushed, and she looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I look like a thug. I'm not one, I assure you. I moved in yesterday. My name's Travis."

"Oh. Okay." She glanced at me nervously. "I'm Sophie. I live on the eighth floor."

"Me too. Come on. I'm harmless, I promise."

She giggled. "I'm sorry," she said again, and stepped into the lift, tugging the little girl by the hand. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's fine. I should probably grow my hair out. I went to ask about a job today and got turned down because of the way I look." I snapped my mouth shut. I didn't usually talk so much. At least I hadn't before I'd gone to Arkham. Perhaps being locked up for so long, away from anyone normal, had loosened my tongue.

"What do you do for work?" Sophie asked.

"I was a taxi driver. In New York. Yellow cabs, you know?"

She nodded. "They have them here."

"But they don't want me. I'm gonna buy a car and set up on my own."

"Well, good luck then." She gave me a small smile as the lift doors opened. "I guess I'll see you around." She walked away in the opposite direction to that I was going. I glanced after her, noticing she stopped outside apartment B. When I spun around and started walking the other way, I bumped straight into a hurrying man.

"Oh! Oh God. I'm sorry," he gasped, and suddenly barked with laughter.

"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." He looked oddly familiar, despite me having met no one so far besides Sophie and Jazz. I took in a long thin frame, dressed in a brown suit and white shirt. His collar-length brown hair had a slight wave to it, and his green eyes were wide and shocked. It was the eyes that were familiar—the clown's eyes.

"Do you, um, do you—?" The clown forced out the words amidst wild laughing, and stopped, shaking his head. He pulled a laminated card from his pocket and offered it to me. I took it and read the words on both sides, which told me he had a condition that caused him to laugh inappropriately. I handed it back to him.

"I'm new here," I said calmly. "Moved in yesterday. I live on this floor."

"Me too." He sucked in a breath and spluttered it out. "I mean, I live on this floor. I'm not new here."

"I saw you yesterday. Outside that music store." He sidled past me and his eyes took on the same look Sophie's had—the same slight look of alarm I'd seen in them when he took a step away from me outside the music store. I cursed my stupid haircut I'd been so determined to keep. "I don't bite," I said for the second time.

"You, um, you look like, um, one of those protesters on the TV."

"Protesters? What are they protesting?"

"You know. The state of the city. The government. Everything."

"I don't know, I'm afraid. This is, well, I suppose it's only my second day in this city."

"Where are you from?"

"Um—" It probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell him I'd been in Arkham for five years. He still looked ready to run for his life. "New York."

"And you moved here?" He laughed wildly. "I'd go back if I were you." He continued down the corridor to the apartment at the end, glancing over his shoulder a couple of times as he went.

"Hey!" I called out, realising I hadn't introduced myself.

He looked over his shoulder again as he fumbled with his key. His door opened and he shot through it, then slammed it behind him.

"What's your name?" I asked the empty corridor. Damn. Both of the neighbours I'd met were scared of me. A great start to my new life.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was the next Monday before my cheque cleared. I was down to my last few bits of food from the bags of groceries I'd bought and had begun to think I'd have to resort to going to the homeless shelter for a meal. I checked with the bank every day, perturbed when they told me on Friday they were closed for the weekend. New York banks opened on Saturday mornings, but Gotham ones didn't.

I hadn't seen anymore of either Sophie or the clown, but I called Jazz on Monday around lunch time. He wasn't planning to start work until six and confirmed he would meet me at the garage to look for a car. I walked there and found him already looking at a blue Ford and chatting to a guy in a grey checked suit.

"Travis!" he called out. "This is Marcus. He owns the garage."

"Good to meet you, Travis." Marcus held out a hand for me to shake. "I understand you're setting up as a taxi driver, like Jazz here."

"Yes, that's right." I glanced at the Ford. The sign on its windscreen advertised its price, which would use up every cent of my money, leaving me with none leftover to pay for insurance, fuel, or anything else, such as food.

"What's your budget?"

"Less than that." I laughed uncomfortably.

"Ah, well, you see this is the price for the general public." Marcus grinned and winked. "The price for friends, or friends of friends, is fifteen hundred. It's a good car—old but solid, for putting a lot of miles in, stopping and starting and hovering, like you need in your job. Big, too. You can easily take four passengers with luggage."

"Marcus can point you in the right direction for good cheap insurance," Jazz said. "I'd take this car. I had the same model for my first taxi, and the same age. Lasted me three years with no trouble."

"Why don't you take it for a spin?" Marcus suggested. "See how you like it." He offered me a key attached to a keyring with his company logo on it.

"Sure, if that's okay." My mind was doing sums—fifteen hundred for the car, insurance in New York would have been at least five hundred, but was probably less here, a tank of fuel, a bag of groceries so I could eat this week, I could potentially start work tonight and earn enough to fill up the tank again.

"I'll go with you." Jazz slid into the passenger seat.

I got in and started the engine. As I steered the car out of the entrance onto the street, Jazz started talking again. "Marcus's insurance guy will sort you out for about three-fifty, but you can pay in instalments. The best fuel stop is the one on Laurel Avenue, about three blocks west of where you live. It's cheaper than the big ones on the main streets. Turn left at the next intersection and we'll go right by it."

"I have two thousand in the bank," I said. "I can just about manage it. I have to eat, too."

"Get your groceries at the market if you can," Jazz said. "You know where Arkham nuthouse is?"

"Uh, yeah." I snorted.

"It's right behind that. Open every day except Sundays. Everything is half the price of the grocery stores, because they don't have to pay store rent, only monthly tax. You can get everything there—food, clothes, electrical stuff, furnishings, whatever you want."

"That's great. I'll stop by there later," I confirmed. I turned the car left and spotted the fuel station, a large sign showing its price which was much lower than I expected. I turned left at the next two corners and looped back to the garage. The car ran well and was neat and clean inside. I'd probably have chosen it for myself, without Jazz's input, except that without his help I couldn't have afforded it.

Marcus took us into his office when I told him I'd take the car. I signed the papers and wrote out a cheque, assuming I'd have to wait for it to clear before I could take the car. But Marcus passed me the key, along with another spare. "Don't leave the country," he teased.

"I'm not planning on it. I really appreciate this."

"You'd better go and sort the insurance out before you drive it, though. Here." Marcus passed me a business card for an insurance broker. "He has an office near the market."

"I'll drive you over there," Jazz said at once. "Once you get it sorted, I'll drop you back here to get your car."

"You don't have to put yourself out," I protested. "I appreciate—"

"It's no trouble," Jazz interrupted. "I only wish I had a friend to help out when I was finding my feet. Come on." He led me over to his car.

"I look that needy?"

"Ha. New in the city, no money, I'd say you could use a helping hand."

"Well, thanks." I got in the car.

"You gonna tell me anything about yourself?" he prompted as he began to drive.

"What do you wanna know?" I clammed up. I hated talking about myself. I'd done nothing but that twice a week for the past five years, and my first appointment with my new care worker was looming the next morning.

"Anything. Other than drive a cab, what have you done in the past? Where did you live? Are ya married? You know, anything."

"Well, um, I was born in the Bronx in New York. I joined the marines when I was eighteen," I said awkwardly.

"Were you in Vietnam?"

"Yeah." I ducked my head and tried to think of a way to change the subject.

"That must have been tough."

"Yeah."

"You know, you can tell me to shut up." Jazz got the message by himself. "I'm sorry. I'm a nosy bastard."

"I just don't want to talk about that," I muttered.

"That's fine. Sorry," he repeated.

"It's okay. You could talk about you instead."

"Well—" He laughed. "You can still tell me to shut up. Once I get going, you know, I just talk. My parents brought us over from Pakistan back in the early seventies—"

"You don't have much of an accent," I put in.

"I worked hard to get rid of it. They wanted to set up in New York, but couldn't afford it, so we ended up here. I have two sisters and a brother. They're all older and married with three kids each and counting. I got married last summer and we have a baby on the way. She's the youngest daughter of another family that moved over with us the same time." He rambled on, telling me about his life with the young woman he'd known since childhood, their hopes and dreams, her work cleaning for a large department store, and his own taxi driver adventures. Somehow, he managed to fit a lot in on the short journey to the insurance broker's office.

Predictably, the man whose name was Bryce Jordan, eyed me warily when I walked through his door, but he greeted Jazz with a smile and settled down. The insurance for the new car was soon in place for only three hundred bucks, which I decided to pay in full, leaving me enough to stock up on groceries, fill the car's tank several times, and still treat Jazz to a few beers. I stuck with one. It was a long time since I'd had a drink, if you didn't count the first day I met Jazz, and I wanted to get out and work that night. Jazz told me the best place to pick up fares on a Monday night, was either at the cinema because they had half price tickets on Mondays and Tuesdays, or at a music club that had a live piano player on Mondays. There was also the train station, obviously.

I made myself some food later, and by six o'clock, I was kerb-crawling near the station, waiting for people on their way home from work. Jazz had given me a couple of spare "TAXI" stickers he had to affix to my car doors, so I didn't even have to sort that out. He was already a good friend, considering I was a weird-looking stranger.

I wore a grey peaked cap I'd picked up in the market, thinking I would be less likely to frighten off potential customers if I covered up the mohawk. I knew I should grow the damn thing out, but it would look ridiculous for months, with stubble either side, unless I shaved it off. Then I'd be a skinhead, which would be even worse.

I got my first fare after only a twenty-minute wait—a businessman in a hurry to get home. Jazz had given me a list of potential journeys and what the yellow cabs would charge, and to start with I deducted twenty-five percent. I spent a couple of hours going backwards and forwards between the station and various housing areas, then when the station quietened down, I headed for the cinema, which kept me busy for the next couple of hours. I spotted Jazz's car on one of my trips, and he flashed his lights and stuck his hand out of the window with the thumb up as he passed.

I kept going until the music club closed at one in the morning, and for that last hour, my prices went up, but not as much as the yellows. When I got back to my apartment and counted out the wad of crumpled notes and bag of change, I was amazed to find I already had enough to keep the car in fuel for a week. With nothing else to do with my life at the moment, the decision was easily made to work seven days a week


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I may have slept two or three hours that night. My insomnia kicked my arse, and I was still pacing around the apartment at three before I tried going to bed. Then my thoughts kept me awake—for once, positive ones about the way things had started for me as a taxi driver again. The first day had shown me I could earn a decent living if I kept at it.

Four cups of coffee gave me enough energy to get the bus across town for my counselling session at ten o'clock with Dr Kane. I hadn't met her before, but one of the managers at Arkham had arranged for me to see her, and the condition of me getting my prescription was attending weekly appointments with her.

When I was called into her office, my mood darkened, and I slumped in the seat in front of her desk. It would no doubt be the same as all the sessions I'd had in Arkham—endless questions about how things made me feel, from someone who was going through the motions to earn their salary.

"Travis Bickle?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Dr Kane."

I nodded.

She shuffled some papers and read one of them. "You've recently been released from Arkham Hospital after five years?"

"Yeah." I huffed out a long sigh.

"And before that you were in New York?"

"If that's what it says."

"Travis." Dr Kane folded her hands in front of her on the desk and frowned at me. "The point of these sessions is to help you integrate into society and try to live a normal life. That means you need to talk to me."

"I haven't anything to say."

"Perhaps you could tell me how things have gone this last week, since you left Arkham."

I shrugged. "I'm working."

"That's good." A sudden bright, exaggerated smile lit her face. "Could you tell me about that?"

"I drive a taxi."

"You did that before, in New York, yes?"

"Uh huh."

"And how's that going here?"

"I only started last night. It's okay."

"Good. Having an occupation will help. How about the rest of your time? What do you do during the day?"

I shrugged again. "This and that."

"Have you got to know anyone yet? Potential friends?"

"Maybe." I had no intention of spilling my guts about Jazz. It was none of her business. "The neighbours aren't too friendly," I said instead, and snorted out a laugh. "I think my appearance scares them."

"Have you thought about changing your hairstyle?"

"I've thought about it."

She did her best to get me to talk more—they always did. She focussed on what I was doing after Arkham, not my spell in there, or what happened before. I knew that would come later. The file on her desk was two inches thick and would have all the details in it of what I'd done in New York. There would be details of the charges, the endless interviews, the decision to send me to Arkham for rehabilitation, instead of prison.

I kept glancing at the clock as the hand crawled towards eleven and answered her questions as abruptly as I usually did. Eventually, Dr Kane closed the file and reminded me to bring my journal to the next appointment. She wanted me to write down my thoughts and feelings about things that happened during the week.

I waited until I'd stepped out of her office before I rolled my eyes. I had no intention of writing down my real thoughts, at least not in the journal I would show her. I hated opening up to anyone, most of all shrinks. None of them had helped me in the past.

I halted in the waiting room when I saw the man sitting there. His long thin frame was folded into a sagging chair, knees bouncing, hands fiddling with a rolled-up notebook. He had his head down, and lank hair hung around his face. It was the guy from my building—the clown.

"Hey," I said.

He jerked his head up, eyes wide, and pressed his hands onto his knees, stilling the bouncing. He looked like the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights. He licked his lips, then laughed.

"My name's Travis."

"A-Arthur," he stuttered. Another laugh bubbled up, and he clamped a hand over his mouth in an effort to stop it.

"Seems like we have something in common." I nodded in the direction of Dr Kane's door.

"I guess."

"Arthur Fleck!" Dr Kane called out from behind the door.

Arthur lurched out of his chair, dropped his notebook on the floor, then stooped and scrabbled to pick it up. He straightened quickly, face flushed. "I, um, I guess that's me."

"I'll see you around." I let myself out of the building and walked away. So, my odd neighbour, the clown, was named Arthur, and apparently, he had just as many problems as I did.

I wandered down to the market and bought a couple of extra notebooks from the stationery stall. Then I walked back home. It took me about ninety minutes, but I didn't want to waste any more money on trains or buses until I'd earned some.

I microwaved a frozen dinner, then sat down with my current half-filled journal and a pen. I'd always written in journals, long before I had shrinks telling me to do just that.

"The neighbours," I began. "Sophie. Young woman, African-American, I think. Pretty, with a little girl. I don't know if there's a man with her. Seems nervous, certainly of me. Lives in 8B. I don't think she likes the mohawk. Perhaps I should grow it out, but I kind of like it after almost six years.

"Arthur Fleck. He seemed scared, too, all three times I've seen him. Dressed as a clown outside the music store, in the lift, in Dr Kane's waiting room. Lives at my end of the corridor, apartment G. Saw him unlocking the door once. I'm in F, so that means he's next door."

I paused and chewed the end of the pen. Arthur was next door, the other side of my bedroom wall. I hadn't heard anything of him—no crazy laughing.

"He's—" I paused again. "Forty? Hard to tell. Gaunt and unhealthy. Maybe looks older than he is. My height, brown longish hair. Green eyes. Pretty eyes."

I snorted. If I had to pick between Sophie and Arthur, I'd pick Arthur, but I doubted either one would look twice at me, except with trepidation. It had been way too long since I'd had woman or man—five and a half years. I'd been hopeless with relationships. I had one date with this pretty chick, Betsy, then had the bright idea of taking her to a porn movie. I never got so much as one kiss, which I suppose shouldn't surprise me.

After that—I shook my head. I couldn't bring myself to write it down, even if no one else would see it. I had sex once, since I was discharged from the marines. Once. And I paid for it. Iris's elder sister, she called herself, but of course they weren't related. Before that, my best friend in the marines. His name was Gerry. We did it in secret half a dozen times. Then—

I sunk my head into my hands. Why did I think of that? I'd successfully not thought of it most of the time I was in Arkham.

I shook myself and wrote some more. "He's as much a freak as I am. Has a laughing condition. Has a card saying it's involuntary. He sees Dr Kane, too. Something makes me want to get to know him."

I added a few paragraphs about Jazz, my new friend. Then I put the book down and picked up one of the new empty ones. I supposed I should write something for Dr Kane.

I scrawled a few paragraphs about my apartment and how I'd set myself up as a taxi driver, using the money left for me by my father. I knew she'd ask, so I added that he'd disowned me when I was seventeen and that I didn't care one bit that he wasn't around anymore. Then I closed the book and switched on the TV. Enough internalising for one day.

I didn't see either the neighbours, or Jazz, for the next few days. Friday night was busy, of course, and I took so many fares I didn't get a break for six hours, except to take a quick piss behind a dumpster.

Saturday afternoon, I checked out the city's "facilities." It had been over five years since I'd been in one of those theatres, and only last week I'd told myself it wouldn't happen again. But options for fun were limited. I doubted my appeal to either sex, and I sure as hell was not going to pay for it again and end up getting dragged back into that world.

The theatre wasn't too far from Dr Kane's office, which amused me in a sort of twisted way. I'd have to write my visit in the journal for her—see if she blushed. I bought a ticket at the small desk inside, and found I had a choice of three rooms with different films showing. I picked one about a rich guy on a boat with two women, and slunk into the darkened room with the reel running on a constant loop.

Only two other men sat in the gloom, staring avidly at the screen. I slid into a seat at the back and watched the action for maybe thirty minutes. The three characters were already romping on the deck of the yacht, exaggerated gasps and groans pumping from the speakers around me. It all sounded so fake, and I wondered what had appealed to me about these sorts of movies in the past. Probably lack of options. I wasn't bad looking, I didn't think, but I hadn't managed to have a relationship in the past—not with Betsy, anyway, or that other girl I dated twice before I went into the marines. There had been a connection with Gerry, and maybe we could have had something, but he was gone.

I glanced around, noting the two other figures sitting farther forward. One was clearly jerking off, his arm and shoulder moving vigorously. I chuckled quietly. That had been me once, but the yacht porn wasn't doing much for me today. Still, the guy was sort of hot—blond, shaved, and with a big dick. My own twitched in my pants. Now, if one of those girls on the deck had been another guy; why didn't they show movies like that?

I slipped out of the room, intending to leave, but first I checked out the posters on the other two doors. The second was a businesswoman and a builder who had been working on her house. The third was—I paused, eyes wide—two male cyclists, stopping on their day out for some fun in the woods. Really? A gay movie?

I glanced around me. No one else was in sight in the entrance to the building, except for the bored young guy selling tickets, who was now flicking through a magazine. What the hell. I opened the door and went in.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I slipped carefully out of the theatre door into the entrance area. No one was in sight except for the bored young man at the desk, and I'd been the only one watching the movie. I slunk out of the building and started the long walk home.

My mood slumped as I walked. I'd enjoyed the half hour watching the two cyclists wriggle out of their lycra and fuck against a tree, and I got my own pleasure out of it. Now in the aftermath, I felt seedy, and even more lonely than I usually did. It reminded me of the time I took Betsy to a porn theatre. I didn't even get the chance to buy the tickets, before she realised what it was and walked out. Her outrage had surprised me at first, but when I thought about it, I felt like filth.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and sunk my face down into my raised collar. I only had one other option at the moment, and I sure as hell wasn't going to waste my money on a whore, which would result in me feeling worse than I did now.

I ducked into a corner shop and bought a couple of beers and some cigarettes. I hadn't smoked since before I went into Arkham, but now the desire returned. I smoked one slowly as I walked, inhaling and blowing the smoke out of my nose the way I always had. By the time I'd smoked half of it, I was lightheaded.

Back at the apartment, I drank one of the beers and put the other in the fridge for later. Then after a couple of coffees and a frozen dinner, I went out again, got in my new taxi, and went to work. The station and the cinema provided me with plenty of fares to keep me going until midnight. After that, the city was quiet, with not much action in the clubs or anywhere else. I called it a night and went home.

As I sipped my second beer and smoked another cigarette, I wrote some more in Dr Kane's journal. "I went to a porn theatre." I snorted as I wrote the words, wondering if it would shock her. I didn't add much to that, except that I hadn't enjoyed it as much as I expected. I switched to my own personal notebook and wrote the same things. I lit another cigarette from the smouldering butt of the first and added more words to the page.

"I still feel like shit. Why did I do that to myself? It's desperate and pathetic, the actions of a loser. I think I'll never have anyone to do that with. Who would want me? Even if I found someone who liked the way I look, if I was honest about the kind of person I am and what I've done, they'd run a mile. I can't blame them. I wouldn't want me."

"Fuck it." I tossed the notebook aside and slouched back on the couch cushions, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. What did all this self-analysing achieve anyway? It only made me dwell on how crap I was, and how pointless everything seemed. My life stretched in front of me, going through the motions, eating, smoking, driving a taxi, trying to sleep, and scaring the neighbours. I laughed hollowly and wondered yet again why the city services in New York bothered to save me.

A distant muffled laugh startled me, and I froze with the cigarette halfway to my mouth. The laugh came again from the other side of the wall—a wild, hysterical laugh that I knew was Arthur. It went on and on, until it was replaced by coughing. Then a loud thump on my wall as if it had been punched. The thump came again, and again. After a moment's silence, the laughing started back up.

I stubbed out the remains of the cigarette and got up. I wasn't sure what I intended to do, but I shoved my feet into my shoes, grabbed my keys, and let myself out into the corridor. The laughter was louder with only the apartment door to muffle it. I knocked and immediately the sound stopped.

"Hey, Arthur! You okay in there?" I called out.

Complete silence.

"It's me, Travis. I live next door to you. We met at Dr Kane's office?"

No reply.

"You need anything?" I felt like a fool standing outside his door calling to him through it. I glanced down the corridor to check no one was watching me, then reminded myself it was the middle of the night and the other neighbours were probably dead to the world. I waited another minute and knocked once more, but there was no answer. I turned away. Just as I reached my own door, I heard a key turn in a lock, and the rattle of a chain being taken off. I looked back over my shoulder as Arthur's door opened and he peered out.

"Travis?"

"Yeah."

I went back to him, shocked by his appearance. He was wearing only pyjama pants and a T-shirt, which emphasised how horribly underweight he was. His ribs were visible under the thin material, and his arms so fragile looking, they probably would have snapped like twigs without much impact. His hollow cheeks and lank hair made him look older than he probably was. I'd thought that before. He wrapped his arms around himself and avoided my gaze.

"Did something happen?" I asked.

"You heard, huh?" His voice was rough and croaky, as if the laughing had made his throat sore. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't. It's fine. What is it that makes you laugh?" I tried a guess. "Are you upset about something?"

Arthur barked with laughter, then put his hand over his mouth to muffle it. He closed his eyes, and tears squeezed out from beneath his eyelids, rolled down his cheeks, and dripped onto his T-shirt.

Shit. I didn't know how to deal with this. I usually avoided crying people, not that I'd had much experience of them. But I tried again. Something told me not to walk away. "You want someone to talk to?"

Thick wet lashes lifted, and his green eyes met mine. "Why would you want to involve yourself in this?"

I shrugged. "Dr Kane tells us to talk about it, doesn't she?"

"It doesn't help, though, does it?" He sighed. "She doesn't care. She's just earning her salary. She doesn't give a shit what happens to us when we leave that office." He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his cheeks. "Why do you have to see her?"

"I have shit to deal with. But we're talking about you." The last thing I wanted was to get drawn into talking about myself.

"Why did you cut your hair like that?" he asked.

The innocuous question caught me off guard. "Um, I thought it was a good idea at the time."

"Okay. Do you want to, um, do you want to come in for a, um, a c-coffee?"

"Sure. Coffee's good."

Arthur stepped aside to let me in, then closed and locked the door and put the chain back on. I found myself in a similar living room to mine, except this one was full of clutter. Every available surface was covered with things, apart from the couch which had a pillow and a folded blanket at one end of it.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Arthur picked up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and shook one out.

"No. I started smoking today."

"You want one?" He offered me the pack and I took one. He flicked a lighter and offered it to me before he lit his own. "I'll just, um, sorry." He picked up the overflowing ashtray from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat down and smoked while I waited for him to come back. A few minutes later he returned with two mugs held in one hand, the ashtray in the other, and the remains of the cigarette hanging from his lips.

I stood and took one of the mugs from him. The coffee was black and when I sipped it, sweet.

"I didn't know how you wanted it. I should have asked." Arthur hovered in front of me, eyes wide and anxious.

"It's fine. Black is fine." I sat down again.

Arthur shuffled around, seeming as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Eventually, he put the ashtray and his own coffee on the table, moved the blanket and pillow to the chair across the room, and sat next to me. He lit another cigarette from the butt of his first.

"You have a bad day or something?" I asked.

"Y-you could say that." He laughed, briefly this time. "My, um, my m-mother's in the hospital. She had a stroke." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, and his knees bounced.

"She lives here with you?"

"Yeah. That's why I sleep on the couch. There's only one bedroom."

"She gonna be okay?"

"I don't know. She's old and sick."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Thirty-five. I look older, I know."

"They say stress can age you. You under a lot of stress, Arthur?"

"W-well, I c-care for my sick m-mother. Have done for years." He sucked hard on the cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose the same way I did. "Do you live on your own?"

"Yes."

"Did you just move to the city?"

"No, I was in Arkham," I blurted before I could stop myself. What the hell?

Arthur turned to look at me. "Was it that bad? Whatever happened to you?"

"I was bad." Damn it, Travis, stop talking, I cursed myself.

Arthur nodded, accepting without asking anything else. "My mother was in there. For years, when I was a kid. I probably should have gone there, too." He absently scratched at his wrist, drawing my attention to a long pink scar. "Why did you knock on my door?"

"I don't know. I heard you and I wondered if you needed help. A friend, you know?"

"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "I could use a friend. What about you?"

"Me too. Can I have another one of these?" I indicated the cigarette pack.

"Yeah."

I took another. I'd wondered about him and thought about getting to know him. Now I had the chance, and it was clear his problems were much worse than mine. Maybe we could help each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Does she make you write in a journal?" Arthur stubbed out his latest cigarette. "Dr Kane?"

"She asked me to, yes. It was my first appointment."

"She doesn't understand mine. I use it for a lot of things. I write my thoughts in it, and jokes when I think of them. I'm going to be a stand-up comedian." Arthur's face brightened as he told me this. "I'm a party clown. You saw me, right? Outside the music store?"

"Yes."

"I work for Ha-Ha's Entertainment. I do all different stuff. Mostly I get gigs at parties or at the children's hospital."

"You enjoy it?" I couldn't imagine him entertaining the masses. He seemed so introverted and lacking in confidence.

"I love it. I love making people smile. My mother always used to say I was put on earth to bring joy and laughter to the world. She calls me Happy. But I'm not. I've never had one day in my entire life when I was happy. Only little bits of days, when I make kids smile and laugh." He shook his head. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I asked if you wanted to talk."

Arthur laughed wildly, then cut it off in an instant. "You did, didn't you? I don't think you knew what you were letting yourself in for. We only just met and here I am, dumping my shit on you."

"I don't mind."

"Don't you want to talk?" Arthur's brow wrinkled. "You're seeing Dr Kane too, and you've been in Arkham. I can listen, too."

"You don't want to hear about my issues." I sucked on my cigarette, burning it down to the filter.

"It might take my mind off my own."

I tried to think of something I could tell him, without dragging up the stuff I didn't want to face, or the things that would probably make him throw me out and lock the door behind me. That didn't leave much.

"My father disowned me when I was a kid," I said eventually. "I haven't seen him since I was seventeen, and he died while I was in Arkham. I guess there were some unresolved issues, but he left me some money at least. Enough to buy a car and set myself up as a taxi driver."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "What about your mother?"

"Um—" I helped myself to another cigarette and lit it from the smouldering butt. "She left us. My dad brought me up on his own from when I was about ten."

"That's rough. Did your dad live around here?"

"No, we lived in New York."

"Of course. You said you were from New York. But they sent you to Arkham?"

"Yeah, the nuthouses in New York were full." I laughed hollowly.

"Do you have, um, schizophrenia?"

"Not that I know of." I choked on my latest lungful of smoke.

"I'm sorry, it's just—" Arthur shook his head. "My mother has that. She spent a lot of years in Arkham. Twenty, I think. I was too young to remember when they took her away. I think she's why I'm the way I am. I must have inherited it. I have to take seven different medications. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, stuff like that."

"Depression sucks."

Arthur met my gaze. "Yes, it does. Do you take the same meds?"

"Only two, but yeah. Anti-depressants and some shit to help me sleep, that I may as well not bother with. I have insomnia. The pills don't really help with that."

"Most pills don't help that much. They just take the edge off." Arthur lit another cigarette. Only a couple were left in the pack. "I've asked Dr Kane if she can get my dosage increased, but she says I already take the maximum allowable. I thought about taking more of some of them, but then I'd run out before my prescription is due."

"How long have you been seeing Dr Kane?" I asked him.

He shrugged one shoulder. "A few months. She replaced the last one I was seeing. There have been a few. None of them last that long. I don't suppose the city service pays well."

"Probably not."

"Have you always been a taxi driver?" Arthur changed the subject abruptly.

"Not always. I did it for about three years in New York."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-one."

"So, what did you do before that?"

"I was in the marines."

"Oh! Tough guy, huh?" Arthur smiled.

"Not really." An image of Gerry's body, broken and bloody, flashed into my mind. I flinched away from it, shut it away again behind the door in my head. "Look, I should probably leave you to it." I got to my feet and faked a yawn. "I took one of those sleeping pills a while ago. Feels like it might be kicking in for once."

"Oh, sure. Of course. Sorry." Arthur stood too. "Thanks for coming over. It helped, having someone to talk to. I don't have any friends. My work mates think I'm a freak and Sophie, down the hall in 8B? I think she's scared of me."

"She's scared of me, too." I grinned and indicated the mohawk. "Take care, Arthur. I'll see you around."

I let myself out, slowly as I had to release the chain and unlock the door. Arthur stood behind me, waiting until I stepped out into the corridor. Then he quietly closed the door and locked and chained it up again.

I returned to my apartment, jittery and tense. The conversation had brought up some memories that were best forgotten, and I'd thought I'd shut away that image, but it was pounding on the door in my head, determined to get to me.

I'd lied when I told Arthur I'd taken a sleeping pill, but now I swallowed two, and washed them down with the remains of the beer I'd left behind. Then I went to bed.

As usual, sleep eluded me at first, but the double dose of sleeping pills eventually pulled me under. When I woke from the throes of a nightmare with sweat-dampened sheets tangled around my body, I wished I hadn't taken the damn pills. I crawled out of bed and went to the bathroom to get a drink of water. My throat ached, probably from chain-smoking. My first time smoking in five years and I'd smoked several from my own pack and half of Arthur's.

I gulped the water, then made coffee and lit another cigarette. Five minutes later I was writing in my journal again—my personal one.

"Not sure I should pursue this friendship with Arthur. Part of me wants to. He seems like a nice guy and he said talking to me helped him. But I say things I don't mean to. If I tell him everything that happened, he may not handle it well. Maybe it'll make things worse for him. He may go back to being scared of me. Or maybe what I'm worried about is that I may not handle it well. I don't want to talk about it, because then I'll have to remember every little detail."

I tossed the notebook aside. Now I'd made myself think about it. I switched on the TV and flicked through the channels in the hopes of finding one that was still broadcasting. A horror movie was showing—something with Boris Karloff. I began watching, and several hours later I woke, huddled on the couch in broad daylight, stiff and cold.

I made more coffee, took a bath, and smoked the rest of the pack of cigarettes. My head pounded with the after-effects of the pills and the shitty night. I made myself eat some cereal, took my anti-depressants, and went for a walk.

The next few days slipped by in a kind of routine. I worked every night, up until three or four in the morning on Friday and Saturday when the clubs were spilling out at closing time and the streets were crawling with drunken revellers trying to get home. The money mounted up and I stashed it in a metal box under my bed, rather than take it to the bank. I bought a few more clothes and a radio, filled the fridge with beer, and stocked up on cigarettes. After that first day, I quickly got back into the habit of smoking, but I stuck with half a pack a day.

On Sunday I gave the double dose of sleeping pills another try. I was exhausted, gritty-eyed and bad-tempered. If I could just sleep for even five or six hours, I'd feel better. It worked to the extent that the pills knocked me out and kept me under for most of the night, but I woke from another horrific dream, sweating, panicking, and much to my shame, crying. I flushed the rest of the sleeping pills down the toilet. I'd rather feel crap from lack of sleep than go through this anymore.

I hadn't seen anything of Arthur or Sophie. I actively avoided Arthur, by checking the corridor before I left my apartment, then slipping out as fast as possible and diving down the stairs instead of waiting for the lift. It was stupid and childish, and it made me angry with myself. I avoided him for my own selfish reasons, even though part of me wanted to see him.

Tuesday, I went to see Dr Kane. As I sat in the waiting room, flicking the pages of my journal as I waited impatiently for my appointment, her office door opened, and Arthur came out. Clearly, he had an earlier appointment this week.

"Travis. Hello." He hovered in front of me, nervously twisting his notebook in his hands.

"Hey. How's it going?"

"I, um, I haven't seen you—"

"Travis Bickle!" Dr Kane called out.

"Sorry. I, um, I'd better—" I jumped up and hurried into her office. I was an idiot, I told myself. I should talk to him. He probably thought I was avoiding him.

"Travis, how have you been?" the doctor asked.

"Okay."

"You brought your journal?"

"Yeah."

"May I see it?"

I placed it on the desk and pushed it towards her. She flicked through the three or four pages I'd filled and read bits here and there.

"You don't write much about your feelings. It's important to put down how things affect you. You mention here you spent some time with one of your neighbours, but you don't say anything about what you talked about or what you think of him. Could he be a potential friend? Someone you can talk to when you need someone?"

I shrugged. "I haven't seen him since."

"Why is that?"

"Busy, I guess."

"How is your work going?"

"It's okay. I'm making enough to pay my bills."

The rest of the meeting followed a similar pattern to the first one. Dr Kane questioned me, and I said as little as I could get away with. I didn't want to talk to her. I wanted to talk to Arthur, and I'd pretty much shunned him.

I left the building in a worse mood than when I'd arrived, and wondered yet again what the point of it all was. I had to see the doctor to get my medication, but neither the meetings nor the pills did much good. Perhaps it was a waste of my time and hers.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The moment I stepped outside the building, I tucked my journal into the inside pocket of my jacket and lit a cigarette. At first, I walked aimlessly, but eventually my feet took me towards that damn theatre I'd told myself I would stay away from in future. I knew I'd feel like shit again when I came out, but at the same time, the prospect of the cheap thrill coupled with endless lonely nights was enough to draw me in.

I lit a second cigarette from the remains of the first and walked as slowly as possible to give myself time to change my mind before I got there. I stopped once to look in a shop window and as I stared at the fancy suits on the plastic models, a strange sense of being watched came to me. I glanced left and right, but the other people within view were going about their business and didn't seem to be paying any attention to me. Shrugging, I walked on.

My spine stiffened and tingled. I was certain someone was following me. I'd always had that instinct to a certain extent, but more so after I joined the marines, trained to be aware of everything out of the ordinary. I spun around suddenly, but again, there was nothing obvious. A slight movement in a shop doorway twenty yards away, but nothing more.

I turned again and walked on. It was probably paranoia. Who would want to follow me anyway? I reached the theatre and bought a ticket. After a moment's hesitation, I went to see the movie that had replaced the one about the cyclists. This one was about a rich man and his butler. I took a seat halfway down the rows. No one else was in there, which was to my advantage. Most people didn't watch porn in the early afternoon.

The movie was okay. It kept my attention, and my pants grew tight. I even contemplated jerking off, but I'd never done that in public and had no intention of starting now. Instead, I'd enjoy the anticipation of getting home and doing it in the bathroom. A few minutes later, a slight sound from behind alerted me to another pervert who must have entered after me, and I heaved a sigh of relief that I didn't have my dick in my hand. A gasp caught my attention, and I grinned to myself. Whoever was sitting at the back of the room was enjoying themselves.

Another gasp came, but it sounded shocked rather than pleasured. Then a bark of laughter told me who was sharing the room with me. It surprised me so much, I turned around. He was at the end of the back row, hands clamped over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter. Suddenly, he lurched out of his seat and ran for the door. Shit.

My arousal vanished, and I jumped up. He was upset and somehow I felt like I was responsible. I remembered the feeling of being watched and wondered if he'd followed me from Dr Kane's office. I ran out, and quickly spotted him in the distance, hurrying along the street, wild laughter drawing the attention of passers-by. I ran after him.

"Arthur!" I caught him easily and fell into step beside him. "Hey, stop. What's going on?"

He halted, his face bright red. He was still clutching his journal, which he'd twisted and scrunched so much I doubted he'd be able to write in it again. Another laugh burst from him and his eyes watered.

"Come with me." I steered him down an alley between a couple of buildings, away from the curious stares of other people. "Try and calm down, okay?"

He choked and gasped, and eventually the laughing stopped. The colour in his face subsided, leaving him pale and shocked. He avoided my gaze. I didn't know how to deal with the situation. I didn't know what was going through his mind, or if he'd even tell me, but I tried anyway.

"Did you follow me from Dr Kane's office?"

"I, um, I, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay."

"I'm s-sorry I spied on you." His lips trembled and he looked up, sad green eyes finally meeting mine.

"It doesn't matter. I mean, I'm kind of embarrassed you know what I'm into now." I snorted and tried to ignore the heat in my face.

"Do you go there a lot? To watch sex films?"

"I try not to. It's a bad habit. I'm just lonely, I guess." I shuddered, already feeling that creeping sense of shame. It was bad enough that I went to that theatre, without being caught and having to explain myself to someone I realised I really wanted to like me.

"I know that feeling." Arthur nodded.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. Was it the fact that it was a sex movie, or the subject matter that upset you?"

"Um—" He flushed scarlet again and stared at his feet. "The, um, the—" He coughed. "It was very, um, graphic."

"Huh. Yeah. You don't care that it was about two men?"

"No. Are you like them?"

"Does it matter?"

"No." He met my eyes again. "I think I might be like that too."

"You don't know?"

He shrugged, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You'll think I'm ridiculous, but I've never been with anyone, so I'm not sure. If I think about, you know, doing that, I usually think about men, but—" He shook his head, his face on fire. "Oh, God. I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Nor can I. You want to walk home with me and have some coffee or something?"

Arthur nodded. I led the way back to the main street and he fell into step beside me. We didn't talk much on the journey home. We took the train to save time, and sat side by side in the swaying carriage, staring at the floor. I thought of asking how he was, and I remembered to my shame I hadn't asked after his mother when I sat in his apartment drinking coffee and talking that one time. I opened my mouth to ask now, but then shut it again. If something bad had happened, it would upset him more. I waited until we reached the apartment block and were in the lift on the way up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't ask how your mother is when I saw you before," I said.

"She's still in the hospital. She's pretty sick."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I'm sure she's in the best place."

"Yeah."

"And how are you?"

"Same as usual." Arthur stepped out of the lift.

"Mine or yours?" I asked him.

"Yours."

I walked to my door and unlocked it. "Coffee or beer?"

"Coffee, please. I don't think I'm supposed to drink with my medication."

"I don't think I am either, but I still do." I chuckled and switched the kettle on. "Black with sugar, right?"

"You remembered. Yes, two sugars, please."

I made two coffees, less sugar in mine than his. We sat in the living room, and Arthur gazed around at the sparse furnishings.

"You don't have much stuff."

"I haven't been here long. I never had much stuff before, though. I have what I need."

He nodded.

"So, um, you want to talk more about earlier? Why'd you follow me?"

"I didn't!" Arthur laughed loudly, then quickly put his mug on the table before he spilled it. "Okay, I did. I'm sorry. I don't like going to see Dr Kane. She doesn't help at all. Talking to you that time helped, and when I saw you were there, I thought—" He paused and sighed. "I don't know. I thought I'd ask if I could walk home with you, but I lost my nerve. So I followed you instead, and then you didn't go home, and suddenly I was in that place and—" Laughing overtook him, but it was brief. "I'm sorry," he added again. "I shouldn't have done that. I feel like I know something about you that you didn't want anyone to know."

"It doesn't matter. Just don't tell Dr Kane." I shot him a quick grin.

"I won't, I promise," he said seriously. Then he smiled and relaxed. "Can I ask about it?"

"If you want." I didn't particularly want him to ask me about watching porn, but it was my fault he'd got that shock. I supposed I should explain more, but it wasn't the movie he wanted to talk about.

"When did you know? You know, that you're like that."

"You mean that I like guys?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. I was about fifteen, I guess. I liked girls, too, but then I saw this movie one time and I liked the guy in it. It made me look at things differently."

"What movie was it?"

"Not my usual type of thing." I snorted. "Roman Holiday. Have you heard of it?"

Arthur chuckled. "It's Gregory Peck, isn't it? He's nice."

"Yeah, that was it. So, I had pictures of him, and some other men I decided I liked. My father found out a couple of years later and threw me out of the house."

Arthur gasped. "What did you do?"

"I stayed with a friend for a few weeks. I'd already signed up to join the marines. I didn't have long to go."

"My mother doesn't know," Arthur said. "There's nothing to tell anyway. I haven't been with anybody. Have you had a, um, a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?"

"I had a girlfriend back in school for about two weeks, until I did something to piss her off. That happens a lot. I tried dating this woman after I left the marines, too. A really nice woman. She worked for the senator's office. We went for a coffee and arranged another date. Then I messed up and she wouldn't speak to me again."

"What did you do that was so bad?"

"Took her to a porn theatre."

"Oh!" Arthur reddened, but laughed. "Wouldn't dinner have been a better idea?"

"Well, yeah, probably. I don't know what I was thinking."

"So, you haven't had much more experience than me, then." Arthur laughed and actually winked.

"There was this one other, um, thing." I gulped my coffee and lit a cigarette, while I wondered why in the hell I had started this conversation. I could have cut it off earlier. I could have avoided saying that last sentence. And yet my damn tongue wouldn't stop flapping and was going to make me say it. "You want one?" I offered him the pack of cigarettes.

"Thanks." He took one and lit it. "What thing?"

"When I was in the marines." Shit, stop it. I sucked on the cigarette and tried to think of a way to backtrack. Just tell him you don't want to talk about it, I told myself, but it wasn't working. Still, Dr Kane had said talking helps, hadn't she? All the doctors had said the same damn thing.

Arthur stayed silent, patiently waiting for me to continue.

"His name was Gerry. We were in the same platoon."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-three." Images flashed into my head and I closed my eyes but doing so only made them more vivid.

"Did you love him?" Arthur asked softly.

"I dunno. I guess I probably did. We only had a few weeks. Sneaking around to be together without getting caught." My pulse began to race, the blood rushing in my ears. My chest ached and a wave of nausea came over me.

"What happened? Travis?"

"We were in Vietnam. We came under fire. He was right beside me and he got shot to pieces. Blood everywhere. I put my hands on him to try to stop the bleeding, but there were too many wounds. He died in minutes."

"Oh, Travis." Arthur's hand touched my shoulder. I couldn't see him. I had my hands over my face, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes. I could hear myself breathing, harsh pants as if I'd been running.

"I'm so sorry," Arthur whispered. "I'm so sorry." His long thin fingers stroked the back of my neck, then around to beneath my ear and brushed over my scar. "You were injured too?"

"Not then." I pulled my hands away from my face and reached for another cigarette. "That's a whole other story."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"They tell me I have PTSD," I said.

"What's that?" Arthur withdrew his hand and took another cigarette.

"Post traumatic stress disorder. It's only just been officially recognised, but the doctors I saw after Vietnam talked about it."

"Do you have nightmares about what happened?"

"Yeah, when I take more than one sleeping pill and actually sleep." I shuddered.

"I heard you screaming," Arthur whispered.

"Fuck." Heat rushed into my face.

"Don't be embarrassed about it. I can't imagine how awful it must be, having to live with memories like that. Is that why you were in Arkham?"

"No. Let's not go there right now. I think I've said enough for one day."

Arthur nodded.

"I'm sorry I dumped all that shit on you. I didn't mean to."

"I asked. Did it help?"

"Not yet." I lit another cigarette from the butt of the current one, struggling to connect the two with my shaking hands.

"Did you tell Dr Kane about it?"

"No, but I'm sure she knows from my file. It's about this thick." I held up finger and thumb a couple of inches apart.

"So is mine." Arthur smiled. "I often wonder what's in it. I'm sure most of it must be really boring. I never have anything to say."

"Or maybe you just don't have anything to say that you want to talk to her about."

"That's mostly it. I told her about my plan to be a stand-up comedian, and she thought it was a daydream. She doesn't think I'm capable of doing anything like that. Maybe she's right. I'd probably have one of my episodes on stage and everyone would laugh, but they'd be laughing at the freak, not laughing because I tell good jokes."

"Can you tell me a joke?" Anything to stop thinking again.

"Um—" Arthur thought for a moment. "Okay, here's one. Did you hear about the blind man who bled to death trying to read a cheese grater?"

I snorted smoke out of my nose. "That's funny, Arthur."

"You think so? I write them in my journal. I don't think Dr Kane finds them funny."

"She looks like the kind of person who wouldn't find anything funny. You want some more coffee?"

Arthur looked at the cheap plastic watch he wore. "Um, I'd like to, but I have a gig this afternoon. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I have to work later, too." I got up and followed him to the door. "Thanks. I feel like a jerk for saying all that stuff, but maybe I needed to say it."

Arthur smiled. "If it helped, then I'm glad. Usually, I'm no use to anyone."

"Well, I think you're great." I grinned. "See you around, Arthur."

I thought about him for the rest of the day, while I was staring at the TV screen and not watching it; when I was waiting for fares outside the cinema; later when I went to bed and didn't sleep. He had severe problems of his own, and yet he listened to all my shit, and cared. I still felt embarrassed that he heard me screaming, to the extent where I didn't take even one sleeping pill, and I stayed up, sitting on the couch until exhaustion knocked me out. I slept about two hours and woke with a stiff neck and a headache. Then I smoked, gulped coffee, and popped painkillers and anti-depressants.

Eventually, I made myself think about Gerry. Strangely, it didn't hurt so much. I felt lighter for having shared with someone who just listened, rather than analysing every word that came out of my mouth and issuing medication to try and fix it. Even feeling like this, I didn't want to sleep. I still feared I'd dream.

I didn't go to bed and sleep properly until Friday, and then it was only after I almost fell asleep at the wheel. I'd dropped off a couple of girls I'd picked up outside a club, and was driving back to collect more stragglers, when my eyelids fell and the car swerved to the left. I quickly parked, got out into the cold, and lit a cigarette. Then I called it a night and went home.

It was past two o'clock when I necked a couple of sleeping pills and washed them down with beer, hoping to completely knock myself out. Then I had a quick wash, cleaned my teeth, and got into bed. I slipped away almost immediately my head hit the pillow.

I catapulted out of the nightmare to the sound of banging. Gasping for breath, I tossed the sheets aside and sat up. My T-shirt and boxers clung damply to my sweaty body, and my heart raced. I felt sick as I realised that talking to Arthur hadn't been a magic fix after all. It felt better at the time, but it didn't chase the dreams away.

"Travis!" His voice was accompanied by more loud knocking on my door.

Shit. I must have been screaming again. I staggered to the door and unlocked it. Arthur stood outside wearing blue pyjama pants and a white T-shirt, his hair tangled and face anxious. Hell knew what I looked like.

"Arthur, what are you—?" My words trailed off as he stepped forward and slid his arms around me. After a brief hesitation, I pulled him inside, closed the door, and sank into his embrace. He felt so good—warm and comforting, with a faint smell of smoke and some kind of musky cologne. I pressed my face into his hair and breathed in. We stood there, hugging each other, my racing pulse gradually slowing, Arthur's hand stroking up and down the middle of my back.

I realised then just how thin he was. Every bone in his body seemed to be pushing against his skin—ribs, hips, shoulder blades, everything. He felt like a starving man, and it horrified me. I loosened my hold on him and took a step back.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I disturbed you." I looked him up and down, then met his eyes.

He flushed scarlet. "What?"

"You're too thin. Don't you eat?"

He backed away until he bumped into the door. "I have an issue with food. Don't ask me about it now. I came to help you."

"Well, I'm fine. Thanks, but I just feel like a fucking fool." I ran a hand over my mohawk, grimacing now the remnants of the dream had faded.

"You shouldn't. It must have been hell."

"Yeah. I felt better, the other day. I suppose I thought it would all magically go away, just because I told you some stuff. Don't get me wrong—I do feel better. But apparently I still dream." I yawned. "What time is it?"

"Just after four."

"Shit."

"You should try and sleep some more. I'll, um, I'll just—" He turned to open the door.

I opened my mouth to say… what? Stay? Stay with me? Then I shut it and told myself not to be an idiot. "Goodnight, Arthur," I said instead. When he closed the door behind him, I went back to bed.

I didn't think I'd sleep again, despite being so tired. I couldn't get the image of his skeletal appearance out of my head. Nor could I forget the feel of his body against mine. It had meant to be in comfort and that's what I got out of it at the time, but now I felt something else. It had been so long since I'd had anyone that close to me—years. If only the circumstances had been different. I imagined him in my arms some other time, our bodies pressed together, my tongue sliding between his full lips to taste him, his gorgeous green eyes closing with pleasure.

I would have got hard if I hadn't been so completely wiped out from lack of sleep, and the pills and beer. Instead, I slipped into unconsciousness again, and this time I didn't dream. I slept until after ten and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I got up feeling refreshed.

I ate a late breakfast and drove down to the market to get some groceries. I bought a couple of new shirts from one of the clothes stalls, too—one blue check, and one yellow with fancy stitching of the same colour in it. When I got home, I put the blue one on and went to knock on Arthur's door. I had the idea of asking him to have some dinner with me, but he didn't answer the door. I rolled my eyes at myself, getting dressed up for him when it was one in the afternoon and he was obviously out working. Or maybe he was at the hospital with his mother. My disappointment was out of proportion with what had happened.

I went back to my apartment, switched on the TV, and lit a cigarette. As I watched crappy daytime shows, I tried not to think too much about Arthur, but I couldn't get him out of my mind. I strained my ears for the sound of his door to indicate he was home, but I heard nothing. Not until a sudden wild laugh came through the wall. I jumped up and switched off the television. The laughter continued, loud and hysterical, interspersed with thumping sounds.

Seconds later, I was at his door, knocking and calling in vain. "Arthur!"

The only response was more laughing and another bang. I tried the door, and much to my relief, it wasn't locked. I slipped inside, just in time to see Arthur smash his forehead into the wall, hard enough to make a picture hanging nearby shake on its hook. He followed it up with another screech of laughter that went on and on, until he was left choking and gasping for breath.

"Christ, Arthur, what happened?" I reached him before he could headbutt the wall again, and gripped his shoulders. His eyes were wide and unfocussed, and tears spilled over. A soft, painful whimper left him, then another bark of laughter. I tugged him against me. He had helped me when I needed it, and now, he clearly needed the same. "Shh, it's okay."

"Travis," he gasped.

"Yeah. It's me. I'm here." I held him tight, crushing his thin body against mine. After a moment, he slid his arms around me and held on tight.

"Travis," he repeated.

"Yeah. It's okay."

He pressed his face against my shoulder, his tears soaking into my new shirt. His whole body shook, and he clutched at me as if he were a drowning man and I was a piece of driftwood. He couldn't even speak, except to say my name. All I could do was hold him and hope that it helped in some small way.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"What happened?" I sat beside Arthur on his ratty couch and lit a cigarette for him. His hands shook too much to even get one out of the packet. When I passed it to him, he smoked half of it before he could speak.

"My mother died today."

"Hell, Arthur, I'm sorry." I swapped hands with my own cigarette and rested my hand on his shoulder. He was trembling all over, his body seeming to vibrate.

"It was m-my fault," he choked out.

"Why do you think that? I thought she had a stroke."

"Yeah, another one." He sucked on the cigarette again. "I'm a bad person. They said she was recovering."

"She was sick," I reminded him. "Why do you think this is your fault?"

"I found out some stuff. I went to Arkham this morning."

I stiffened. "Why?"

"I'd been meaning to do it for a while. I wanted to find out about her. She told me Thomas Wayne's my father and I thought she was making it up. Delusional. Must be where I get it from." He hiccupped out another laugh and smoke the last half inch of the cigarette.

"Why did she say he's your father?"

"She would never tell me. All my life I've never known, but she kept writing to him, asking him to help us. She worked for him before I was born. When she went into the hospital, she'd left another of those stupid letters for me to post. I opened it and it kept saying "your son" and stuff like that."

"You're Thomas Wayne's son?" My eyebrows lifted.

"No! I told you she made it up!" Arthur yelled suddenly.

"You said you thought she made it up. I'm on your side, Arthur." I took my hand off his shoulder and lit another cigarette for him.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He got up and paced around the small room, smoking and wringing his hands. "I went to Arkham to see if I could get her file. I managed to con the man on the desk into finding it. Then I stole it and ran away. It was all lies. All of it. I'm not his son. I'm not hers either. She adopted me. She's not my mother!" He screeched the last few words, then started tugging his hands through his hair, cigarette and all.

I jumped up and grabbed his wrists, then took the cigarette from him. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Who cares?" He wrenched free, surprisingly strong considering how frail he appeared. He took the cigarette back and drew on it, then laughed out the smoke. "I'm like this because of her. Why would you adopt a kid and then abuse him? Why?"

A chill ran through my body. "What do you mean?"

"See for yourself. Here." He grabbed a red file from the table and passed it to me. "You can read it."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. I opened the file and flicked through some of the pages, finding an adoption certificate stating that Penny Fleck had adopted a young boy, Arthur. There were newspaper articles and medical reports, some about her and some about him. She and her then boyfriend had left Arthur chained to a radiator for hours, sometimes days, without food, and the boyfriend had beaten him to within an inch of his life, leaving him brain damaged. He was three years old. After he recovered physically, he went to a children's home, while Penny was locked up in the secure wing of Arkham, and the boyfriend went to prison.

I put the file aside as Arthur started to laugh wildly, hysterical and painful. I tugged him into my arms, and the laughter turned to sobs. He clung to me, his agony pouring out of him. Then suddenly he pulled away and rushed into the bathroom. I heard him throwing up and when I got there, he was crouching on the tile floor, shivering.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say? Suddenly it made my problems seem insignificant. I found a washcloth hanging on the side of the sink, soaked it in warm water, and wiped Arthur's face. Then I helped him to his feet and led him to his bedroom. It had to be behind the one closed door—I could see all the other rooms. Then I remembered. He didn't have a bedroom—he slept on the couch. I hesitated, but he shuffled through the door and lay down on the bed, curled up on his side, and closed his eyes. I grabbed a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over him. Then I lay down with him and took one of his cold hands in mine.

"I read the file," he said softly. "Then I went to see her. I thought about—" He scrunched up his face. "Don't hate me. I thought about killing her. I imagined all these ways of doing it—smothering her with the pillow; injecting air into her drip; stabbing her with a scalpel. Maybe that makes me as crazy as she was. I didn't do any of that. I asked her why she would do that to a baby? Why she stood by and let her boyfriend almost kill me. Her heart monitor started bleeping faster and faster. She was clutching at her chest like she couldn't breathe. I watched her die."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur." I touched his face.

"You don't think badly of me?" His long wet lashes fluttered, and slowly lifted.

"No. I don't think badly of you. I feel sick that Penny and her man did all that to you. You were a helpless child. That card you showed me once said the laughing may be the result of a brain injury. Was it?"

"Yes. The doctors said so. I was normal before. Afterwards, I had no memory of it. I lived in children's homes—lots of different ones because they couldn't cope with me. Penny was released when I was in my twenties. I still thought she was my mother. She was frail and sick and needed me to look after her, so I did. She wasn't even my mother. I cared for her for over ten years, and she was nobody." He pulled his hand free of mine and clutched at my shirt. "Don't leave me, Travis. Please."

"I'm not gonna leave," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong. Not when you were a kid, and not now. She was a sick woman and she got everything she deserved. She can't hurt you anymore."

He heaved a sigh of relief. "I thought you'd hate me. I thought you'd think I'm a freak and never want to speak to me again."

"You're not a freak, Arthur." I gently pried his hand off my shirt and lifted it to my lips so I could kiss his knuckles. "You'll be okay now. We'll both be okay."

I didn't remember closing my eyes, but when I opened them, the room was dark, several hours having passed. I still lay on my side facing Arthur, his hand in mine, and he continued to sleep peacefully. I'd slept without my pills and I hadn't been disturbed by dreams.

I thought about everything Arthur had told me, and impotent anger filled me as I imagined a scared little boy chained up, starved and beaten by a woman who had chosen to have him in her life. If she hadn't been dead already, I'd have wanted to kill her myself.

Carefully, I slid away from Arthur to go to the bathroom. Then I made some coffee and lit a cigarette. I should have been at work by now—it was past seven—but a night off wouldn't hurt. I made another coffee for Arthur and went back to the bedroom. He stirred and opened his eyes.

"You're still here."

"I said I wouldn't leave."

"I'm sorry about before." He pushed the blanket off and sat up before accepting the mug of coffee.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You don't need my shit adding to your own."

"You were there for me when I needed somebody. I'm here for you, too. Maybe we can help each other. Dr Kane doesn't give a shit about either of us, but I do. I care, Arthur. You can talk to me whenever you want to."

"Did it help you at all, talking to me about Gerry?"

"Yeah. I didn't think so at the time, but when I thought about it later, it didn't hurt so much. I still have nightmares when I let myself sleep, but it's not so bad."

"That's good." Arthur sipped his coffee. "Don't you have to go to work?"

"Not tonight. I'm having a day off."

"Is that because of me?"

"Not entirely. I need a day off. I work seven days a week. But I wouldn't leave you tonight, anyway." My stomach grumbled, and I grinned. "I need to get something to eat, though."

"There are some frozen dinners," Arthur said. "Bread and eggs and oatmeal. You can help yourself."

"Okay. I'll find something." I lit a cigarette for him, then went to look around the kitchen. I wasn't a great cook—I lived on sandwiches, cereal, burgers from a diner, and other shit. I should probably do something about that. I'd let myself go after I was discharged from the marines; lost all my fitness and muscle. Not that I could have done much to keep healthy in Arkham anyway. The food was shit, and the only option for exercise was walking around the damn place.

I boiled some eggs and toasted some bread—I couldn't go far wrong with that. Arthur appeared just as I was picking bits of shell off the eggs and trying not to burn my fingers.

"I'm shit at cooking. This was as much as I could manage." I laughed and handed him a plate with two slices of toast and two halved eggs on it.

"Oh, I'm not really hungry."

"Try a bit of it. We can eat together." I remembered him saying he had issues with food, and I expected it had something to do with being starved as a child, but I had no intention of asking him about it. He was upset enough. But I wanted to see him eat a few bites.

"All right." He took the plate into the living room. I made more coffee and joined him. He picked at the food, but he did eat it eventually. I wolfed mine down and wished I'd made more. When I took Arthur's plate from him, there remained only a crust off the toast on it.

Arthur switched on the TV while I was in the kitchen. There wasn't much of interest showing, but we watched together for a couple of hours. Arthur took his medication and I noticed the anti-depressant was the same one I took. I hadn't taken my own, and I had one of his rather than go back to my apartment.

"You know, you don't have to stay with me. I'm okay now," Arthur said eventually.

"You asked me not to leave. I'm not leaving."

He smiled. "You're going to stay all night?"

"Do you want me to?" I had visions of lying in that bed with him, snuggling together, perhaps getting a few more hours' sleep and waking up with him in the morning. My face warmed.

"That'd be nice."

"Then I'll stay."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Arthur got ready for bed in the bathroom and emerged wearing pyjama pants and a T-shirt.

"There's a spare toothbrush in the cupboard," he told me.

"Thanks." I probably should have gone back to my apartment to get my own stuff, and something to sleep in, but I simply brushed my teeth and stripped down to my T-shirt and underwear.

Suddenly, I was nervous. I'd never spent the night with anyone. I doubted I'd sleep, so lying awake for hours and not disturbing Arthur would be difficult. If I managed to sleep, I might dream and if it was bad, I could thrash about and hurt him, or scare him. I had no intention of changing my mind and leaving him alone, and I couldn't stay in the bathroom all night either. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and went into the bedroom.

Arthur was already in bed, with the glow of a bedside lamp lighting the room. He looked as nervous as I felt. "I've never spent the night with anyone."

"Makes two of us." I dumped the rest of my clothes on a chair in the corner of the room and slid into the bed. It was a double but didn't seem very big with two men in it. I lay on my back with my hands resting on my chest.

"Really?" Arthur shuffled around until he was lying on his back too. His elbow nudged mine and he jerked away.

"Relax," I murmured, even though I was anything but relaxed myself. "I won't bite."

Arthur laughed, overly loud. "You said that the first time I met you properly."

"Yeah, I did. You gonna turn the light off?"

He rolled away from me and reached out to turn off the lamp. When he turned back, his arm bumped mine again. "Are you worried about having nightmares?"

"Not really," I lied. "I probably won't sleep much."

"I have some sleeping pills. You can have one."

"No, it's okay." I tried to relax, but my heart was hammering and despite my anxiety, my dick had started to fill. Damn it. The last thing I needed was to be lying next to him with a hard-on. I willed it to go down, but the minute I thought about it, I only got more aroused. I was in bed with a man I found attractive, his body just inches away from mine. I imagined moving my hand down to find his, lacing our fingers together. I wondered if he was having the same problem, and that thought developed into me thinking about his dick. Was he big? Thick? Thin? Cut, like me? Did he keep his pubic hair trimmed, or was it thick and natural? My erection throbbed and I scowled. For God's sake, Travis, think about something else.

I thought about everything Arthur had told me, about what happened to him when he was a kid, about a young man finding himself the carer of a woman he thought to be his mother, who had done nothing but abuse him and let her boyfriend beat him. I remembered him shaking and sobbing in my arms, and it had the effect of a cold bucket of water being flung over me. Thank God. The last thing he needed was me panting over him; he wanted comfort.

I slid my hand off my chest onto his arm, then felt my way down to his hand. He threaded his fingers through mine and held on.

"You all right?" I whispered.

"Yes." He swallowed. "Good night, Travis."

"'Night." I closed my eyes. Might as well try to sleep, although it probably wasn't going to happen.

It was still dark when I stirred. Apparently, I'd slept at least a little. I was warm and comfortable, and Arthur's hair was tickling my nose. His head rested on my shoulder, his hand on my chest, one leg draped over mine. My arm was under his neck, stretched out across the bed. I lifted it and rested it around him, feeling ribs through his T-shirt. He was so thin it horrified me. I trailed my fingers down his side to his hip and felt more bones. He was half-starved, not an ounce of flesh on him anywhere.

I tucked my face into his hair and breathed in. I wanted to take care of him and make all his troubles go away. Everything he had to deal with, and had gone through, made my own shit seem so trivial. I needed to fix myself; to make more effort to move on so I could be more use to him.

"Travis?" Arthur murmured against my neck.

"Mm hm?"

"You're still here?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep." I pressed a kiss into his hair.

He moved his hand from my chest, up around my neck. His fingers brushed over my scar, then paused and traced it. I caught his hand in mine and guided it back to the middle of my chest.

"Some other time, Arthur. I'll tell you about it some other time," I whispered.

He didn't say anything else, and after a couple of minutes his breathing deepened as he slipped back into sleep. I didn't think I would sleep anymore, but it felt so good, lying in his bed holding him. I felt like I could let go and nothing would happen. I regulated my breathing so it matched his, and I drifted away.

When I woke, daylight filtered in between the drapes, and Arthur was awake, his head propped up on one hand, watching me from only a foot away. I was still lying on my back, my dick rock hard and straining against my underwear.

"I thought you said you wouldn't sleep much." Arthur grinned.

"Usually I don't. Are you okay?"

"I feel good. It was nice, having you here last night." His gaze slid away from mine and he flushed. "What happens now?"

I wondered if he was in the state I was. I didn't particularly want to get out of the bed the way I was. He seemed embarrassed just waking up with me, without me looking like I might jump him at any moment. "Why don't you make us some coffee? I'll go to the bathroom in a minute."

"Okay." He slid out of the bed immediately. He wasn't hard, and I wondered if maybe the meds affected him that way, or if he was just too nervous. As soon as I heard him in the kitchen filling the kettle, I got up, grabbed my clothes and went to the bathroom.

By the time I'd washed my face and cleaned my teeth, my morning wood had gone down. I put the rest of my clothes on and went to find Arthur. He was stirring sugar into two coffees and smoking. I took mine and smiled at him. "Thanks. Can I have a cigarette?"

Arthur offered me the pack. He looked sad and thoughtful; eyes huge in his pale face. I wanted to say something, but I wasn't sure what. Instead, I smoked and sipped my coffee. Arthur did the same, neither of us saying a word.

"I should probably, um—" I put my mug in the sink. "I have some stuff I need to do, and I have to get my meds."

"Sure! Of course. Um, yeah. Me too." Arthur grinned, fake and awkward. "I have a gig this morning."

"That's good." I found my shoes and shoved my feet into them. Don't be a dick, Travis, I told myself. "What time will you be finished?"

"Um, I'm sign-spinning later. Probably by three."

"You want to catch up later? Maybe get something to eat before I go to work? There's this diner down the block, does decent pie."

Arthur smiled more genuinely. "I know the one. It does nice coffee, too."

"So, you want to meet there about four?"

"Okay. Yes."

"See you this afternoon." I let myself out and went back to my apartment. I made a sandwich, took my meds, and sat down with my journal—the one I wrote for Dr Kane.

"Been having nightmares about Vietnam. Not every night. Often don't sleep enough. Didn't dream in Arkham, or I don't remember it if I did. Now, they're so vivid it's like being back there, in the jungle."

I rambled on for four pages, pouring out all my pain over Gerry that I'd shared with Arthur. A few tears dripped onto the pages, and I wiped them off with my sleeve. If Dr Kane thought I was a freak for falling for a man, too bad. I was probably about to fall for another one, but I had no intention of mentioning Arthur's name to her.

I grinned as I put the notebook aside and picked up my own personal one. It had been good spending the night with him. It seemed to help him, and it certainly helped me. I slept and I didn't dream. I started writing again.

"Not sure how to proceed with this, if there's anything there. He wasn't hard this morning. Meds? Was he nervous? Maybe he doesn't think about me that way. He's never done anything with anyone, but he told me if he did, he prefers men. I think. I'm clueless. Never had any luck with men or women. Except Gerry. Worried about making a move in case I freak him out."

I put the pen down and ran a hand over my mohawk. "Fuck. What am I thinking?" I said aloud. "The pair of us are so screwed up, we could never work."

Was that true? I lit a cigarette, tilted my head back and scowled at the ceiling. Arthur helped me. He made me feel like I could move past what had happened. One night with him and I felt so good, I felt safe, and I didn't dream. I'd just spent an hour spilling my guts into Dr Kane's journal about the worst thing that had happened to me, and that was because I wanted to get better—for Arthur. So I could be more use to him. Maybe there was a chance after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The phone ringing was a welcome distraction from my self-analysing. Jazz called to catch up, as it was a while since we'd seen each other. I arranged to meet him for a couple of beers the next afternoon, realising I actually had a friend.

Later, I went out to get some groceries and stock up on cigarettes. I walked all the way to the market and was on my way back when I spotted Arthur on the other side of the street, dancing around outside a store in his clown outfit and makeup. I didn't want to disturb him while he was working, but I stopped to watch for a minute. Looking at him, you would never know he had so many problems. He moved gracefully, in perfect rhythm with the music issuing from the store. I imagined dancing with him some day in my apartment. I should probably get a record player.

My smile turned into a gasp of horror, as a bunch of young teenagers shoved their way past Arthur, knocked him off balance, and snatched the sign from his hands, before running off down the street. Shouting after them, he gave chase. They darted across the street to my side, dodging around honking cars. Arthur followed, not even noticing me as he narrowly missed being hit by a yellow cab, and continued racing after the young thugs.

I gripped my grocery bag tightly and began to run after them. The kids had disappeared into an alley, and Arthur skidded, almost falling as he turned to follow. I hurried to catch up as he entered the alley and disappeared from view. When I reached the corner, my heart leapt into my mouth. He was on the ground, surrounded by the group of teenagers, at least three of whom were kicking him where he lay in the dirt.

"Hey! Leave him alone, you little bastards!" I charged down the alley and the kids scattered, fleeing to the other end and out into the street. I stopped beside Arthur, who was trembling and whimpering in pain, one hand pressed between his legs to protect his privates from the kicks. I crouched and placed my bag on the ground. "Arthur." Gently, I touched his shoulder.

"Travis?" His lips trembled within the innocuous red smile painted on his face. He sat up slowly, wincing.

"Where are you hurt?"

"I don't know. Everywhere, but I think it's just bruises."

"This happen a lot?" My jaw twitched in anger. A memory flashed into my mind of me with a gun in my hand, blowing the thugs to pieces—leaving blood all over the alley like I had in a filthy brothel in New York.

"It's not the first time. My sign!" Arthur reached for the broken pieces of the sign the kids had smashed and groaned. "Hoyt will kill me."

"Who's Hoyt?"

"My boss. He'll say it's my fault. I'll have to pay for the sign."

"Then he's just as much a dick as those little arseholes," I gritted out. "Can you get up?" I took his hand and carefully helped him to his feet.

"You look so angry." Arthur stared anxiously into my eyes.

"I hate that they hurt you and I was too far behind to stop it. This city is just like New York in some ways. Full of filthy scum that don't deserve to live."

Arthur flinched. "What would you have done if you caught them?"

"You don't want to know. Don't worry about that now. Let's get you home." I squeezed his hand. "Can you walk okay? We can get a cab at the end of the alley."

"I'm all right. I can walk to the station."

"Don't be silly." I grabbed my bag of groceries and walked slowly with him back to the main street. An independent taxi was passing as we emerged, and I flagged it down. It wasn't Jazz, but I had seen the driver around. I held the door open for Arthur, and slid in after him, then gave the driver the address of the apartments.

"I know you from somewhere," the driver said as he eased the car back into the traffic.

"I'm a taxi driver, too," I said.

"That must be it." He glanced in his rear-view mirror. "Wait a minute. You know Jazz?"

"Yeah, we're friends."

"Ah, you must be Travis. He mentioned going to get you a car. I'm Martin."

"Good to meet you," I said.

Martin nodded and concentrated on his driving. He didn't seem at all curious about the fact that I was travelling with a clown. When he stopped ten minutes later to let us out, he waved away my offer of a fare and said he'd see me around.

When we got out of the lift on our floor, I followed Arthur to his door. I intended to stay with him, but he stood in the doorway when he had opened it.

"I'm okay now. Thank you for helping me," he said stiffly.

"You don't want me to stay with you?"

He shook his head. "I need to get this shit off my face. I'm gonna take a hot bath. It'll make me feel better."

"All right. You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I'll see you. Maybe tomorrow." He slipped through the doorway and closed the door.

Surprised, I went back to my own apartment. We spent the last night together; woke in each other's arms. Now he didn't want me around. I didn't get it. It reminded me how clueless I was about other people. In my imagination, because we'd got close and shared a bed, suddenly we'd be with each other every minute and things would rush into something more. It seemed I was completely wrong. Perhaps Arthur didn't even like me that much. He had been upset before. Maybe he'd just clung onto the one person who showed any interest and it didn't matter who that was.

I opened a beer, lit a cigarette, and started writing in my journal. My mood plummeted until the words appearing on the page probably didn't make a lot of sense. As I often did, I convinced myself I was of no use to anyone; a waste of time that the "system" had for some reason seen fit to save when I didn't deserve it. There was no helping some people. I would have done anything to help Arthur. I'd spilled out all that shit in the other journal, so I could open up to Dr Kane. I would have talked about it, too. She'd said—all the shrinks had said—that talking would help make things better. If I was better, I'd be able to help Arthur, but no, he didn't want that. He didn't want anything to do with me anymore.

I picked up the other journal, flicked through the pages until I found the beginning of what I wrote the last time, and tore the pages from the book. When I'd finished ripping them into little pieces and piling them in my ashtray, I dropped the end of my cigarette on top of them and watched them burn. Fuck Dr Kane anyway. My personal life and what happened with Gerry was none of her business, and I'd been stupid to think telling her that would do any good.

Tempted as I was to open another beer, I remembered I had to go to work. Instead, I drank some juice, made a sandwich, and swallowed a couple of pills. Then I went out early. I worked from four thirty that afternoon until seven the next morning, exhausted by the end of it, but knowing I wouldn't have been able to sleep, so I may as well be making money.

When I finished, I stopped at a diner and ordered pancakes and coffee. As I stirred sugar into the cup, I remembered Arthur and I had been planning to go out for pie and coffee the previous afternoon. It took me a moment to remember why we hadn't—those little shits had beaten him up, and then I'd sunk into a dark mood because he wanted to be on his own. Of course he did. He was hurt. He wanted to bathe and take care of himself. He wouldn't have agreed to go for pie and coffee if he didn't want me around at all.

"You fucking moron," I muttered. "What's wrong with you?"

I ate my pancakes, gulped two cups of coffee, and went home. It was eight o'clock. Arthur would probably be up by now and I doubted he went to work this early. I hovered outside his door, wiping sweaty palms on my pants legs and wondering if I should knock. Would he want to see me? Maybe I should leave him alone until he came to me. He was more anxious than I was, so he probably wouldn't come to me, but if I knocked on his door, he'd be cornered and possibly defensive.

I scrubbed my hands over my face, my heart racing. "Get a hold of yourself, Travis," I whispered. "Knock on the damn door." I took a breath and knocked.

I counted off the seconds, and a full minute passed before the lock clicked. The door opened a few inches, the chain still on, and Arthur peered through the gap.

"Travis! Sorry, hold on." He closed the door, took the chain off, and opened it again. "Hey."

"Hey." I looked him up and down. He had on dark trousers and a red sweater with the sleeves pushed up. A cigarette dangled from his fingertips. "How are you?" I asked.

"I'm okay. It's just bruises. It happens."

"It shouldn't have to." I sighed. "I'm sorry you got hurt. I'm sorry if I was a jerk, too."

"You weren't. You helped me." Arthur frowned. "Why do you think you were a jerk?"

I shrugged. "No reason. You're really okay?"

"Yes." Finally, he smiled a little. "Have you been working all night?"

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep. I should probably try to get some." I stifled a yawn. I couldn't think of anything to say. I wanted to ask him out again, but I was too worried he might say no.

He nodded. "We, um, we were going to—" He coloured up. "We were going to go to that diner. Do you, um, do you still want to?"

"Yes!" I grinned and told myself to calm down. "Um, yeah. I'm supposed to be catching up with a buddy later—another taxi driver. How about after that? Five o'clock?"

"Okay. I'll be back from work by then. Shall I meet you there?"

"That'd be good. I'll see you later, Arthur." Beaming from ear to ear like a fool, I left him and went back to my own place to try to catch up on some sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I slept until lunchtime, sprawled on top of my bed covers with my clothes still on. When I woke, I kept my eyes shut while I remembered waking with Arthur. It had been the first time I'd woken up with someone in my arms. I recalled the soft feel of his hair against my face; his warmth; the weight of his head on my chest. I could have stayed like that with him all day.

My dick swelled, and I unzipped my jeans. I imagined something different to Arthur getting up to make coffee and me going to the bathroom, hiding my erection from him and waiting for it to go down. In my fantasy, I rolled over to face him and tugged him against my body. He was hard too, and he welcomed me running my hands over him, under his T-shirt, down the back of his pyjama pants. I stroked myself as I thought about touching him, pulling his dick free of his pants and rubbing it against mine.

"Fuck!" I gasped. I was already close and if Arthur was really with me, letting me jerk us off together, I doubted I'd last even this long. My interactions with other people had been so few and far between due to my own nature and the mess that was in my head, and yet I longed for this. I ached for someone to be with, not just sexually, but for the company, the comfort, and to share things with. I wanted Arthur like that.

I came hard, spurting onto my shirt. Then I stripped off and took a shower. My fantasies were probably all I would get, but at least he wanted to have coffee with me. I could have the companionship part of it, and the comfort when I screamed from the nightmares and he came knocking on my door.

I put on one of the new shirts—the yellow one—and dark jeans. Then I tackled my journal again. I rewrote the pages I'd ripped out and set fire to, chain-smoking as I poured out my grief over Gerry yet again. Dr Kane had better fucking appreciate me sharing like this, because it was kicking me in the guts. I rambled on, adding a few paragraphs about "my neighbour." I didn't name him, or mention anything that could be connected to Arthur, such as his laughing. I wrote that I had a pie and coffee date with "the neighbour" but that my own lack of confidence and insecurities were probably going to ruin it. I wrote more in my personal journal.

"Want him to like me, but I think I still scare him. Wanted to kill those fucking kids that hurt him. He could probably see it in my face. In my eyes. I want that night again, when I slept in his bed. I actually slept. He helped me and doesn't even know it. I wanted to kiss him." My face heated and I drew hard on my cigarette. I wanted to do more than kiss him, but I couldn't bring myself to write it down. I put the notebook aside and checked my watch. It was almost time to go and meet Jazz.

An hour later, I met him, and we went to a bar. I unzipped my jacket, and he grinned. "Nice shirt. That new?"

"Yeah."

"Got a date later?"

"What makes you think this isn't a date?" I couldn't resist teasing him, and it might give me an idea of what he thought of guys like me. Better to find out now rather than later and have him shun me.

"Um—" His eyes widened. "I'm not, I mean, I'm married, um, not that I have anything against—"

"I'm joking. Obviously." I laughed. "I have a date later."

"Oh, that's good. Where'd you meet?"

"We live on the same floor."

"So, is it, um, a guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. I said I don't have anything against… that. Are you, um, you know, gay?"

"Not exactly. I had a date with a woman once."

"Just once?" Jazz grinned. "Did you not like her or something?"

"I liked her all right. She was beautiful and smart. She didn't like me. I haven't dated much. I'm pretty clueless. I had the bright idea of taking her to see a porn movie for our first date."

"No way!" Jazz snorted beer out of his nose. "I guess I can see why it didn't work out."

"Yeah. I was a jerk." I didn't elaborate on the fact that today's date was with a man, and he didn't ask, but at least he knew about me and didn't hate it. I was usually more secretive with anyone I spoke to and I'd never had friends to speak of besides Gerry, but I wanted Jazz to be my friend, and the last few minutes showed me he could be.

A couple of hours' later, we parted company and I went to the toilets in the bar to check I didn't look too bad. I was never going to look great unless I grew my hair out, but I still liked the mohawk, even if it did make me look like a thug. The shirt was nice, though, and I'd sprayed on a little cologne, so I smelled pleasant.

I checked the time again and walked to the diner. It was four forty-five when I arrived, so I ordered a coffee and picked a table where I could sit facing the door. I lit a cigarette and sipped the drink as I waited. My nervousness returned and I began to worry that he wouldn't show, or that he would, and I'd clam up and not be able to talk about anything. That was stupid, because we talked a lot already and spent a night together. But this was different. It was a date. At least I thought it was. Maybe he just saw it as friends meeting for a coffee. He'd never been on a date before. Shit.

I fretted about it for three more minutes before the door opened and he came in looking as nervous as I felt. He wore brown trousers and matching waistcoat over a cream shirt, the tan hooded jacket I'd seen him wearing before tucked under his arm. No one else was in the diner and he saw me right away, dragged a hand through his hair, then made his way over. I pushed the chair opposite me out a little with my foot, blew out a lungful of smoke, and smiled.

"Hey." He hung his jacket on the back of the chair and sat down.

"Hey, Arthur."

"I'm not late, am I?"

"No, I was early. Earlier than you." I grinned.

"What can I get you?" The waitress appeared with her notepad.

"Oh, I, um—" Arthur reached for the menu. "What are you having?" He glanced up at me.

"Apple pie," I said. "With a slice of cheese melted over it. And another coffee."

"Did you say cheese?" The waitress raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. You know, the yellow cheese that comes in those little slices wrapped in plastic?"

She smiled. "Yes, I know. I was just surprised you want cheese on apple pie, but that's fine. I can do that. And you?" she aimed at Arthur.

"I'll have apple pie, too. And coffee, please."

"You want cheese with that?"

"No, thank you." Arthur giggled a little. "I'll have cream."

"You don't have to say it. I'm weird," I said as the waitress headed off to get our order. "What can I say? One day I had nothing left in my refrigerator other than apple pie that was getting old and dry, and some cheese slices. I heated it up in the microwave and melted cheese on it. It was surprisingly good."

Arthur grinned. "Was this in New York?"

"Yeah. Not long after I left the marines."

"Why did you leave?"

"I got an honourable discharge after Vietnam. 'Cause of my PTSD." I finished the remains of my first coffee. "How are you feeling? After what happened yesterday."

"I'm okay. Like I said, it's just bruises. Travis—" He fidgeted and stared down at the tabletop. "Is this a, um, you know, a—?" Colour rushed into his face and he glanced around. No one was in sight, other than the waitress who was behind the counter, making a lot of noise with the coffee machine.

"A date?" I whispered.

He nodded.

"I hope so."

His lips twitched but didn't pull up into a smile. "It's my first."

"I know. It's my first in a long time. I only really had one other one, and that was a disaster."

He smiled properly. "You're not going to take me to the theatre, are you?"

"Jesus, no. Not that kind, anyway."

"Then this shouldn't be a disaster. I mean, if you did, I wouldn't ditch you, but I'd probably die of embarrassment." He stopped talking as the waitress walked over with a tray and placed the plates of pie and coffees on the table.

I picked up my fork and cut off a slice of pie with cheese dripping off the edges. "You want to try this?"

"No." Arthur laughed and shook his head. "I don't like cheese."

We ate, drank our coffees, then I lit two cigarettes and passed him one of them. My initial anxiety had vanished, but I still worried I might fuck up somehow.

"Did you get some sleep earlier?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, then I saw my friend."

"The taxi driver?"

"Yes. Jazz. We had a couple of beers in a bar."

"I don't have any friends. You're lucky. My mother—I mean Penny—always used to tell me I didn't need friends. I only needed her. I didn't have any friends anyway when she got out of Arkham. I don't find it easy to talk to people and they don't understand me, especially when I laugh. She made me more isolated that I was before. She's the reason I have all these problems. I'm sorry, I—" Loud laughter burst from him. He put his half-smoked cigarette down and covered his mouth with both hands.

"Arthur, it's okay." I stretched out my leg and nudged my calf against his.

"Sorry," he choked. "I'm spoiling things."

"You're not spoiling anything. It's fine." I checked no one else had come in, and that the waitress was busy. Then I rested my hand on his arm. "I know that sometimes if you get upset, you're gonna laugh. I don't care. Let people think what they want. It's what I think that matters, Arthur, and I like you, okay?"

He picked up his cigarette again and took a couple of drags, then blew the smoke out of his nose. "I like you, too," he said softly. "I kind of wish we were somewhere else."

"Why's that?" I slid my hand from his forearm to his hand and gave it a squeeze before I let go. "We can go anywhere you want."

"I wish we were somewhere that nobody else can see us." He flushed again and coughed. "I'd really like it if you would kiss me."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

We walked back to the apartments, neither of us saying much. I had my hands in my jacket pockets, pulling it down in front of my crotch to hide the fact that my dick was straining against my fly at the thought of kissing Arthur. I got so worked up thinking about it, that by the time we reached my door, I thought I'd come in my pants the minute our lips met. I almost dropped the key when I tried to unlock the door, then attempted to stick it in the lock upside down. Arthur waited patiently beside me, not saying anything. If I'd been him, I'd have been laughing, and not with hysteria.

Finally, I got the door open and led him inside. He took off his jacket and hung it up. I did the same, my back turned to him while I untucked my shirt at the front so it would cover my obvious arousal.

"You want more coffee?" I offered.

"No."

I thought if I led him into the living room and invited him to sit down, I'd feel awkward, as if I was setting the scene. It was stupid. When I thought about it, I'd only ever kissed Gerry, and the kid I got to know in school. I didn't kiss when I paid for it, and Betsy had run a mile before things got to that stage. Now, I just wanted to get into it.

I turned to Arthur, cupped his face in my hands, and pressed my lips to his. His lips parted, but at first he didn't seem to know what to do. He stayed completely still, letting me kiss him and not responding in any way. I drew away a little, then went back in with a gentle caress. Gradually, he relaxed and kissed me back, hesitant and clumsy. He lifted his hands and rested them on my back, encouraging me to press closer. I slid my arms around him and guided him backwards until he was against the wall.

He felt so thin in my arms. I could reach almost all the way around him, and feel the ridge of his spine, his ribs, and his hipbones. Wherever I touched, I felt bones through his clothes. I ignored it, and slid my tongue into his mouth. He hesitated, unsure what to do, but then he responded, his tongue sliding against mine as he copied me. A soft moan came from him, muffled by our lips. I hummed with pleasure, and pressed my body harder against his. He must have been able to feel my erection, but it didn't seem to worry him. He held onto me tighter, and his response to my kisses grew more heated. I moved my hips, desperate to grind against him, but trying not to let things get too out of hand.

Arthur groaned, and dug his fingertips into my back. He shuffled his feet, parting his legs so I could move between them. He was hard. I felt it against my hip, and I broke the kiss with a groan. My heart raced. I turned my attention to Arthur's neck, and gently nibbled beneath his ear. He arched his neck back and rested his head on the wall, gasping as I bit harder. I rolled my hips in an effort to get some friction, and my balls pulled up. Shit, I was close. I tried to slow things down, returning to Arthur's lips with more gentle kisses.

"Travis." His tone was filled with frustration. "Don't stop." He pressed his lips harder against mine, and sought my tongue with his own.

What the hell. I thrust into his mouth and crushed his lips. I rubbed my lower body against his, grinding my dick into his groin. He moved a little and suddenly his erection was against mine, frustratingly separated by two sets of pants and underwear. But it was enough for both of us. He jerked and shuddered in my arms, then pulled his mouth away from mine to breathe. The feel of him coming pushed me over the edge, and I spilled hot and wet into my underwear. My instinct was to pull away now it was over, but I quelled the urge and thought about it. What would he want? He'd never even kissed before. Things had gone a lot further than he probably anticipated. I stayed where I was and held him close, my cheek resting against his as we caught our breath. "You okay?" I murmured.

"Yes, that was—" He laughed softly. "Wow."

I grinned, and kissed his jaw. "You liked that, huh?"

"Yes. You must want more, though."

"Arthur." I nudged his cheek with my nose, then pulled my head back so I could meet his eyes. "You know I haven't done much before. I'm not in a rush. This is good."

"But you've had sex, right?"

"A handful of times with Gerry. And a couple of times—" I paused. "I'm not proud of this, but I paid for it in New York."

"It's okay."

"My point is, I never had a proper relationship, and I'm not in a hurry with you. Yesterday, I wasn't even sure if you wanted to go on a date with me."

Arthur grinned. "I'm assuming now you know I did."

"You assume right. I hope I haven't blown my chances, and that you'll agree to another one."

"You'll have to ask me some time and find out." Arthur's smile widened, and his eyes shone as he gazed into mine.

"I'll do that. Much as I hate to do this, I'm gonna have to get changed and go to work."

"I know." He leaned closer again and brushed his lips over mine. "I'll see you soon?"

"Do you want to have breakfast with me tomorrow? I'm a lousy cook, but I could throw together some bacon and eggs."

Arthur nodded. "I'd like that. What time?"

"Seven?"

"Okay." He slipped out of my arms, took his jacket, and let himself out.

I headed for the bathroom to clean myself up. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I had a grin a mile wide on my face. I definitely wouldn't be writing any details of our date in Dr Kane's journal. Maybe in my personal one.

I didn't work so long that night. I wanted to try to get a couple of hours' sleep before I had breakfast with Arthur, so I dropped off my last fare at one-thirty and went home. I took only one sleeping pill, which of course didn't have much effect. I tossed and turned, unable to relax, and eventually got up again and wrote in my journal. It was the early hours of Tuesday and my next appointment with Dr Kane loomed.

I went back to bed at four and closed my eyes. What seemed like minutes later, I woke with a start at the sound of knocking. My first thought was that I'd been screaming, but I hadn't been torn from a nightmare. Then I glanced at my watch and saw it was seven o'clock.

"Shit!" I leapt out of bed, dragged on a pair of jeans over the underwear I'd slept in, and hurried to the door. "Sorry, Arthur," I said as I pulled it open.

"Did I wake you up? I'm sorry. I can come back." He bit his lip.

"No, come in. I didn't fall asleep until four." I reached for his hand and tugged him inside. "I didn't want to oversleep so I only took one sleeping pill. Then I couldn't sleep for hours."

"I didn't sleep much either." Arthur smiled shyly.

"Something on your mind?"

"I was thinking about you." Much to my surprise, he moved closer and kissed my cheek.

I turned my head and brushed my lips against the corner of his mouth. "You want to go and sit down? I'll just freshen up. Then I'll make breakfast."

Arthur went to sit down, and I grabbed some clothes from my bedroom before heading for the bathroom. I took the fastest shower in history, brushed my teeth, and made for the kitchen.

I made coffee first, and took Arthur a mug before I started on the food. I was a terrible cook, and I watched the bacon like a hawk so I wouldn't burn it. I fried the eggs and managed not to overdo them, but I was so busy trying not to ruin them, I burnt the toast and had to scrape the black bits off. I slathered on some butter and took the plates into the living room.

"Thank you. This looks great," Arthur said.

"No, it doesn't, but hopefully it won't taste too bad. I burnt the toast."

He chuckled. "I leave my toast in too long on purpose. I like it to taste of something. Penny hated it like that. She used to tell me one minute on each side was long enough, just enough to warm and crisp it up."

I tried not to eat too quickly, but I was starving and had cleared my plate before Arthur had eaten one piece of bacon and his egg. He picked at the food, taking tiny bites and poking it around the plate. For a moment, I thought he wasn't enjoying it, but then I remembered he had always struggled with food. I wanted to ask him about it, but wasn't sure how.

"You can ask, you know," he said, as he nibbled slowly on the corner of a piece of toast.

"I don't want to upset you."

"You won't. I trust you. Can I smoke?"

"Sure." I grabbed my pack of cigarettes from the table, lit two, and passed him one. He took a long drag on it, blew out the smoke, then took another bite of toast.

"You know what's in my file. I don't really remember any of that. My mind blocks it out. I know they starved me, though. I lived in care homes after that, until I was sixteen. I was bullied." He gave up trying to eat the toast and put his plate aside. His hand shook as he lifted the cigarette to his lips.

"You don't have to tell me." I took his free hand in mine.

"No, but I want to. Dr Kane would be pleased." He barked out a laugh. "Do you have an appointment today?"

"Yes, at eleven."

"Mine's at ten. Maybe we could go together."

"I thought that. We can go in my car. Then if it's tough, we don't have to face the train or walk."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you. That would be good." He drew hard on the cigarette again. "The other kids in the homes—and there were a lot of homes—didn't understand me. When I got upset and laughed, they called me a freak. I'd get beaten and other stuff. I didn't have much of an appetite because I was scared all the time. The times I was able to eat properly, they'd call me a pig and tell me I'd get fat. They picked on me even more, and I'd be sick." He rubbed a hand over his face. "On purpose."

"Hell, Arthur," I groaned. "I'm sorry. You don't do that now, do you?"

"No. Not for a long time. But I can never eat much. Penny used to nag me about it and it made things worse. I think it's just habit, but I get full quickly. Then I feel sick and I don't want to be, so I stop eating." He took another cigarette from the pack, and lit it from the first. "You must think I'm disgusting."

"No, I don't." I let go of his hand and slid my arm around him instead. "None of what has happened to you, or the way you are, is your fault. I told you I like you, Arthur, and nothing you tell me is going to change that. I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned against me and rested his head on my shoulder. "You're the first person to ever make me feel like I'm worth something. Life wasn't worth living before I met you."

I kissed his temple. "I feel the same. When I walked out of Arkham, I wondered what the point was. I wished they'd let me die in New York, instead of going to so much trouble to fix me. Now, I have you and it all seems worth it after all."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"What happened to you?" Arthur asked. "How did you get hurt? Did you do it to yourself?"

I didn't answer for a moment. I lit another cigarette and wondered if this was the right time to tell him about it. If I upset him or scared him now, when he was upset already and having to see Dr Kane in a couple of hours' time, I'd regret it.

"You don't have to tell me," he continued. "But you can if you want to. This isn't just one-sided. I'm here for you, too."

"I just don't want you to be scared," I admitted. "The other day, when you got hurt and I was angry, you looked like you were scared."

"I was worried you'd leave me and go after them. That you might do something to get you sent back to Arkham."

"I wanted to, but it was more important to take care of you." I paused again, unsure how much to tell him. "New York was as bad as Gotham," I began. "Well, not in some ways. It wasn't so dirty. There weren't piles of garbage and rats everywhere. But the people were filth. I got this idea into my head that I could make things better. It started when I went into a store and interrupted an armed robbery."

Arthur gasped. "Were you hurt?"

"No. I killed the guy. He had a gun, and so did I. But he didn't know I was there. He didn't have a chance to fire."

"You had a gun?"

"Several, actually. I thought I needed them. I was screwed up. After it happened, the shopkeeper took the gun from me and told me to leave. He covered for me, but he was grateful I'd helped him. It made me think I'd done the right thing."

"You did do the right thing. You saved him and his shop."

"The cops wouldn't have seen it like that. Anyway, I didn't just leave it at that. It started with me paying for, um—"

"Sex?"

"Yeah. Then I hated myself for it. I felt dirty, and I wanted to put an end to prostitution. Especially when I discovered a girl not even thirteen being used like that. I decided I was going to get her away from that scene and help her get back to her family. I killed her pimp and his thugs. I got shot in the neck and the arm while I was doing it. I lost so much blood I almost died. I don't know why they didn't let me die, when the outcome was me being charged with murder."

"Murder? But you were trying to help the girl."

"The powers that be saw it differently. The girl's father wrote to me to say thank you. The courts had me locked up. I can't remember what I said in the trial. I think I ranted about cleansing the city. They thought I was crazy and that an asylum was a better place for me than prison. They thought they could rehabilitate me. They sent me to Arkham because the mental hospitals in New York were full, and I suppose they thought once I was in another city, they could wash their hands of me."

"I'm not scared," Arthur said. "You worried I would be, but I'm not. You didn't hurt anybody who was innocent. You helped the shopkeeper and the girl. The people you killed were bad." He slid his arms around me and hugged me. "I'm glad you told me."

"Me too." I ducked my head and brushed my lips across his. He parted his lips and closed his eyes. I'd intended it to be a brief, affectionate kiss, but immediately it became heated. I slid my tongue into his mouth and explored, my pulse quickening when his response was just as eager. I groped for the ashtray, ditched the remains of my cigarette, and pulled him closer. The intense conversation was forgotten, and all I could think about was kissing and touching him. I guided us down onto the cushions, so we lay facing each other. Our lips didn't part for a second.

Arthur groaned as our bodies pressed together, and the hardness in his pants rubbed against mine. I broke the kiss, breathless. "Can I touch you?"

He didn't answer but slid his hand between us and unfastened his belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled his erection free of his underwear. I took it in my hand and rubbed my thumb over the tip. He was long and thick, cut, and wet with precome. He moaned and impatiently pushed himself through my fist. I stroked him, slow and firm. My dick throbbed, desperate for the same attention.

"Do you want me to—?" He slid my zipper down.

"God, yes."

He slipped his hand into my underwear and curled his thin fingers around me. "Tell me what you like."

"Anything." I sucked in a breath and breathed out raggedly. "Do you touch yourself?"

"Yes." He flushed.

"Do it like that. I'll come, just from having your hand on me." I squeezed him more firmly and moved my hand quicker.

He gasped and his body trembled. "Travis, I'm gonna—"

"It's okay."

He came, warm spurts into my palm. After a moment, he began to stroke me, his grip a little too loose, and his movements frustratingly slow. I took my hand off him and wiped it on my leg. I'd have to get changed again, but what the hell. I closed my eyes.

"I tease myself," Arthur said breathlessly. "I do it slow; not quite enough to get there, to make it last." His hand slowed more. "I don't grip tight enough. It's frustrating. It makes me want to come so bad, and I can't yet."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered. "You don't know what you're doing to me." His words, and his light touches coupled together turned me on more than I could ever remembered being turned on.

Arthur chuckled softly as his fingers glided up and down my shaft. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I like it. Considering you haven't done this before, you're incredible."

He rubbed his thumb over my tip, slowly tracing the crown and spreading my fluid around. I shivered as he drew his nails lightly down my length to my balls, then slid his hand around me and gently squeezed. "Are you gonna come, Travis?" he whispered.

"Fuck." My dick jerked, and I shot my load. Arthur cupped his palm around the head, catching most of it. I pulled his hand away and wiped it on my pants. He laughed. And laughed some more as he rolled away from me, tucked himself into his pants, and sat down on the carpet. Shit.

"Arthur?" I sat up quickly and zipped my fly, my pleasure dissolving into anxiety.

His laughter grew louder and more hysterical, hands over his mouth to try to stop it. I slid off the couch to sit beside him.

"Don't, babe. Please. It's okay. I'm sorry."

He shook his head, his laughter giving way to choking. I felt terrible. Despite what had happened yesterday, perhaps he wasn't ready for this. I didn't know what to do or say to make it better.

"I-I'm okay," he gasped eventually. "I just—I—"

"Arthur, it's okay. Take your time. We shouldn't have done this yet."

He took a breath, then reached for the cigarettes. I picked up the lighter and lit it for him. "Sorry." He cleared his throat, then drew some smoke into his lungs and blew it out fast. "I was just embarrassed."

"Because we touched each other?"

"More by how I was. What I said. I've only ever done that by myself. It doesn't matter when no one can see or hear me. Doing it with you was so good. I loved how you fell apart when I said those things and stroked you. I loved how you made me feel. I felt sexy. I'm just not used to it, I guess. I wanted to hide afterwards, because you saw a side of me I'm not comfortable with."

"You don't need to hide from me. I loved what you did. But we can take this as slowly as you want to. Don't feel like you have to do anything to please me. Just being with you pleases me."

He smiled a little. "I was doing it to please myself. I want to do it again, soon. Next time I won't freak out so much."

"If I ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you will tell me, though, right?" I slid my arm around him and gave him a gentle hug. "Like I said before, I'm not in a rush. I don't want to ever do anything that makes you feel bad."

He nodded. "I'll tell you if we do anything that makes me feel like I'm gonna laugh. Except just then, I was fine when we were doing it. It was only after, when I thought about it."

I knew I was going to have to be careful with him. I'd known that from the beginning, but more so now. I kissed his cheek. "You okay now?"

"Yes." His lips twitched. "I think you need to change your trousers, though."

I grinned. "I'll do that."

Arthur stayed with me until it was time to go to Dr Kane's office. I drove us there and parked around the back of the building. Then I sat in the car while Arthur went in for his appointment. I didn't go into the waiting room until five minutes before my own allotted time. Arthur came out at exactly eleven o'clock.

"Do you want to wait in the car?" I offered him the keys. "There are some cigarettes in the glovebox."

"I have some anyway." He took the keys.

"Was it okay in there?"

"Yeah. No worse than usual."

"Travis Bickle!" Dr Kane's voice came through the closed door. Arthur left me, and I headed into the office with my journal. "So, Travis. How has your week been?"

"Okay." I pursed up my lips to stop myself smiling.

"Have you written anything in your journal?"

"Yeah. I wrote about Vietnam." I no longer had the inclination to smile as I passed her the notebook.

She read the pages quickly, her eyebrows lifting a couple of times. Then she closed the book and gave it back to me. "Has it helped, writing all of that down?"

"A little." It helped more talking to Arthur, but I didn't plan on telling her that.

"How are you dealing with the loss of, um, your friend?"

"How would you deal with it? I kind of loved him. He bled to death in front of me. I dream about it. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday."

"Talking, and sharing it, will help you. It will still take time. If you have someone to talk to about this, besides me, it will be good for you. Tell me about your week. You mentioned having a date with a neighbour?"

"Yeah." I grinned. I couldn't stop myself this time. "We had coffee and pie."

"Apparently, that went well."

"Yeah, it did." I talked more and answered most of her questions, but I took care not to mention Arthur's name, or go into too much detail. I doubted she would be impressed that I was seeing one of her other patients—one with more problems than I had. At the end of the session, she handed me another prescription for my meds and gave me an appointment card for the next week.

When I got into the car, Arthur was smoking and seemed relaxed. I glanced around, ensuring that no one was within sight, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine." He smiled and returned my kiss. "How was your session?"

"It was good, I think. I talked."

"That's the idea."

"I said I had a date with a neighbour."

"So did I!" Arthur laughed, not unhappily. "I hope she doesn't put two and two together."

"Well, so what if she does? She thinks we're both screw-ups. If we're seeing each other and sharing our troubles, maybe she'll think we can't be that bad after all."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I stopped at the pharmacy on the way home. Arthur had a prescription to collect, too. I parked illegally while he went into the store to get them. Then I drove back to the apartments.

"I sometimes wonder what would happen if I didn't take all these," Arthur said as we waited for the lift. "I don't think they do much good anyway. I feel bad all the time. Well, not all the time." He shot me a sideways look and a brief smile. "But most of it. So, what's the point in taking them?"

"They must be doing something to help. What are you taking, other than the anti-depressant and the sleeping pill I have?"

He named a few drugs, a couple that I'd heard of, and explained they were anti-psychotics and more anti-depressants.

"When did you start taking them?" I asked.

"Years ago. Some when I was a kid. I know I need the anti-depressants. If I don't take them, sometimes I can't get out of bed. If I don't take the sleeping pills, I can't sleep. A lot of the time I don't sleep anyway."

"Same as me."

The lift door opened, and we both stood aside as Sophie and her little girl came out. Sophie glanced warily at Arthur, then gave me a nervous smile and hurried away. I waited for Arthur to step into the lift, then followed and punched the button for our floor.

I moved closer to Arthur and rested my hand on his back. "You're not thinking of stopping taking any of them, are you?"

"I don't know. I just wonder what it would be like without them."

"The docs must think you need them. You should ask."

"They all think I'm crazy because of the laughing condition. Even though it has a name—I can't remember what, but it does—they've always told me I need the drugs to stop me losing control. Dr Kane is just the latest one and is probably going by what's in my file. I don't think the meds make any difference. I still laugh."

"Arthur, don't do anything rash." I took his hand as we got out of the lift and walked to his door. No one was around.

"I won't. I was only thinking about it."

He unlocked his door and I followed him inside. He closed the door, then much to my surprise, pushed me up against it. I slid my arms around him.

"I have to go to work," he said. "I just want one kiss."

"You know what one kiss led to last time," I teased.

He smiled. "I'm sorry I got crazy after. I won't next time." He leaned harder against me, letting me feel his erection.

I groaned, and immediately my blood headed south. "You shouldn't be doing this to me if we don't have time. I'm getting all worked up."

"I am too, but I like it." He laughed softly and flushed. "By the time I get back later, you'll have gone to work. Then I'm gonna have to wait hours to see you and I'll be feeling like this the whole time. I like the frustration. I won't even touch myself."

"Christ, Arthur." I slid my hands down to his arse and squeezed. My dick jerked in my pants, nudging his. He brought his lips to mine in a slow but heated kiss, his tongue seeking mine. I let him stay in control of it, responding to what he wanted instead of taking over. If only we had more time. I was desperate to touch him again, and to feel his hands on me, tormenting me in that frustrating way he had of doing it. But at the same time, I worried about him freaking out the way he had had earlier. I moved my hands to his waist and pulled my head back. "I'd better let you get ready for work. Do you want a ride anywhere?"

He shook his head. "I'll get the train." Slowly, he moved away from me.

"I'll see you soon." It was difficult to drag myself away, and my dick ached as I let myself into my own apartment. The hell with it. I couldn't get through the rest of the day, and most of the night driving, without relieving the pressure. I unzipped and pulled my erection out of my underwear. I didn't even bother to sit down. I leaned against my door, closed my eyes, and stroked myself off, quick and hard. Then I cleaned up, made myself a snack, and sat down with my journal—the personal one.

"We jerked each other off," I wrote, then scrubbed out the words when my face burned. What the hell was I writing? A sex book? Still, no one was going to see it. This was my own record of how things developed—of whether anything got better for me, and how I managed to start a relationship. Was it that?

"I guess it's a relationship," I wrote. "Had a date yesterday. Had sex (sort of) this morning. If we had more time, we'd be doing it again now, but he had to go to work." I paused to light a cigarette and tried to stop thinking about the feel of Arthur's beautiful dick in my hand; of his light teasing touches that drove me crazy. I couldn't get it out of my head, and those thoughts led to things we said to each other.

"Do you touch yourself?" I'd asked him.

"Yes." His face went red.

I imagined him lying on his couch, or his bed, his hand inside his underwear because he wouldn't do it naked of course. He'd fondle himself a little until he was hard, then tease his erection, refusing to give it any proper friction, moaning his frustration aloud as his balls started to pull up. He'd squirm and fidget, desperate, aching, until he finally got there and soaked the crotch of his underwear.

"Stop it. Fuck." I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes. If I hadn't come just minutes ago, I'd have been rock hard again.

I gave up trying to write in the journal and switched on the TV. There was nothing of interest to watch as usual, but I smoked the rest of the pack of cigarettes, drank a beer, and fidgeted. A brief thought of going to the theatre came to mind, but I quickly dismissed it. The damn place always made me feel dirty afterwards, and now, it'd be worse. I'd feel like scum—as if I'd cheated on Arthur.

The afternoon crawled by. I even looked forward to going to work, until I remembered I'd be leaving before Arthur got back and I wouldn't see him. I thought about waiting an hour or so until I could see him, then heading out. I could do that. A few kisses; maybe a little grind against each other before I went.

"Don't be a dick," I muttered aloud. He might not be in that kind of mood, and if he was, I wouldn't want to go out at all. The stash of money under my bed wasn't enough yet to start relaxing and taking days off, especially not when I already had one a couple of days ago. I needed a safety net. I needed to know I could pay for the apartment when the funding for it ended. I got up and went to work.

When I returned at seven in the morning, I found Arthur standing outside my door, head down and hands in his pockets.

"Hey!" My pulse quickened as I reached him.

"Hey." His mouth was down at the corners, his eyes sad.

"What's going on?" I unlocked the door and steered him inside. I pulled out my cigarettes, lit two, and passed him one.

"Nothing. It's stupid." He shrugged and giggled a little.

"You want breakfast?"

"No. Thank you."

"Did you eat already?"

He shook his head.

"Get any sleep?"

"No. I'm sorry, I should go. You must be tired."

"Yeah, but I'm not too tired for you. Let me get some coffee." My heart sank as I switched on the kettle. He seemed so down. I hoped it wasn't because of me. Maybe he'd been awake all night thinking about what we did and feeling bad. I made the coffee extra strong. "What's wrong, Arthur?"

"I'm just having a bad day. It happens. I thought if I see you, I might feel better. Then when I was knocking on the door, I started thinking you wouldn't want to see me. I thought you were ignoring me. I'm an idiot. I forgot you work all night." His hand shook as he lifted the cigarette to his lips.

"Arthur, I always want to see you. Come here." I put my hands on his waist and drew him towards me. He leaned against me and rested his head on my shoulder. "I was thinking about you all afternoon yesterday. I couldn't get you out of my mind. I almost stayed here to see you before I went to work, but then I thought I probably wouldn't go at all because I wouldn't want to leave you."

"You really wanted to see me that much?"

"Yeah." I took his hand, guided it inside my shirt, and pressed his palm over my heart. It was racing. "Feel that? That's you, doing that."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What for?"

"Being stupid. I thought all kinds of stupid things last night."

"Tell me."

"Then I'll feel more stupid."

"You don't have to. This is me you're talking to. I'm more stupid than most."

"Okay. After I got home from work, I thought about what we did. I thought maybe you were disappointed. Maybe you want more. Maybe what we did wasn't enough. I wondered if you wanted to fuck me. I don't know if I can do that yet. I freaked out just from us touching each other." He started to shake, and his hand curled into a fist on my chest. "Maybe you'd be better off with somebody else."

"Don't do that. Listen to me." I touched his face and wrapped my other arm tightly around him. "I don't want anybody else. I just want you, Arthur. Just you. You could never disappoint me. Everything we've done is perfect. The way you touched me was perfect. You drove me crazy. I thought about it all afternoon, and all night. I said this already, and I'll say it again. I'm not in any rush. I love this. I love being with you, even if we're not doing anything except spending time together. If that's all you ever want to do, it's okay. We don't have to fuck to be together. If you don't want to, or you're not ready, whatever, it doesn't matter. As long as I can be with you, that's what makes me happy. I've never had this—somebody to be with and talk to. Somebody to hold." I kissed his cheek and tasted salt. "You listening to me, Arthur?"

"Yeah." He sniffed. "Sorry." He turned his face into my neck and choked out a sob. "I've never had this either. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. I'm not going anywhere."

We stood there holding onto each other for a long time. It might only have been a few minutes, but it seemed a long time. Arthur relaxed and slid his arms around me, and I closed my eyes and enjoyed just being held. Then my stomach rumbled loudly and ruined the moment. But as Arthur pulled away, he chuckled.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from your breakfast."

"And the coffee's probably gone cold. You want to make some more while I find something to eat?"

"Okay." He lit another cigarette and filled the kettle.

"You gonna have something to eat with me? Just a few bites?" I said casually.

"All right. I'll try."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Arthur came to my apartment every morning at seven for the rest of the week, and we ate breakfast together. The most he could manage was one piece of toast and an egg, but at least he ate. We spent a lot of time kissing and cuddling, too. It didn't go any further than that. He was still down, and his depression began to pull me down. I fought it and I put on a happy face when I was with him, but for the rest of the day after he'd gone to work, and the night when I was driving, I struggled. I drank more beer than usual, and sometimes whiskey, but I had to keep a cap on that because of my job. On Saturday night, when I got home at four thirty, I cracked open a new bottle and drank myself unconscious. I didn't even think about Arthur coming around for breakfast and if he did, he wasn't able to wake me.

When I stirred, my skull was pounding, and my mouth felt like I'd been licking the carpet. Nausea made my stomach roll and I gritted my teeth, hoping it would go away. My head felt too bad to make it out of bed to the bathroom. Instead, I groped for the painkillers I had on the cabinet beside the bed and dry-swallowed a couple. Half an hour later, I was forced out of bed to take a piss. Then I made coffee and took a cocktail of anti-depressants and more painkillers. When I finally looked at the clock, I noticed it was after ten. Shit.

It took me another couple of hours to get it together. I felt better when I'd showered and had something to eat, but my misery was coupled with guilt over Arthur. We'd got into a routine of seeing each other at seven. I'd been comatose then, and I imagined him knocking on the door, then eventually going away thinking either I wasn't home, or worse, I didn't want to see him.

I knocked on his door a couple of times, but when he didn't answer, I assumed he must have a Sunday gig. I thought back to what we'd talked about the previous morning and couldn't remember what he said about Sunday.

I set off on foot into the city, not with any particular errand in mind, but to get some fresh air and hopefully feel better. I found myself at the seven-day market where I bought everything from now and wandered around the stalls. Perhaps I could buy Arthur a gift, but what? Women were easy to buy for. Flowers, chocolates, a scarf maybe, or jewellery. I'd bought flowers for Betsy—dozens of them—and she sent them all back. I'd been a dick. I should have taken no for an answer, but I virtually stalked her after she ditched me, convinced that if I called enough or sent enough flowers, she'd agree to another date.

What would Arthur like? I pondered it as I stood in front of a jewellery stall. Arthur didn't wear jewellery; only a watch. His watch was cheap and crappy but buying something like that when it wasn't a birthday or Christmas was probably too much. Then I saw the stall that sold bags, purses, and wallets. Perhaps I could get him a wallet. I'd seen the one he used, and it looked ready to fall to bits.

I examined the items on display, of which there were dozens of designs, making it difficult to choose. I knew what I liked—plain and simple—but what about Arthur? I thought about his clothes—cheap and functional, and most likely obtained from charity stores. His apartment—plain and full of clutter, most of which was probably Penny's. Some of it had disappeared recently. The cheap watch he wore had a simple white face and a black strap. He didn't go for fancy.

"Can I help you?" the stallholder asked me.

"Um, yeah. I'll take this." I picked up a simple reddish-brown coloured wallet the same style as mine, which had slots for credit cards, a section for notes, and a small zippered coin pocket. I paid for it, and the stallholder put it in a paper bag. Then I began to walk home, but after five minutes, thunder rumbled, and large raindrops began to fall. I hurried along the block and ducked into the nearest subway station.

The train was almost empty. I took a seat and glanced at the one other person in the car—a woman with a baby in her arms, a folded buggy, and a large bag of something. When the train reached the next stop, she got up and began to juggle the items.

"Let me help." I smiled pleasantly in an effort to counteract the effect of my appearance and picked up the buggy.

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate it." She climbed off the train with the baby and the bag. I jumped down, opened up the buggy for her, and got back on. As the train pulled out of the station, I glanced through the connecting doors into the next car and saw something I'd hoped I would never see again.

Arthur sat near the far end in his clown outfit, and three apparently drunken idiots were tormenting him. He was laughing hysterically—I couldn't hear him, but his head was thrown back, mouth open, hands clutching at his throat as one of the jerks pulled off his wig and imitated him, and a second swung around the pole in front of him.

"You fuckers!" I growled, as I yanked open the door and stepped into the shaking connector section between the cars. The other door was stuck, and I pulled and pushed and kicked it, while one of the men torturing Arthur grabbed his bag and threw it aside. As he tried to get up, the one sitting down grabbed him and held on. He struggled and kicked out.

Finally, the door opened, and I burst through. Neither Arthur, nor the three dickheads were aware of me as I charged through the carriage. One of the men punched Arthur in the face and he fell to the floor, where the others began to kick him.

"Leave him alone!" I snarled as I reached them. I grabbed the first one by the back of the neck, spun him, and smashed his face into the pole he'd been swinging around. Blood spurted from his nose and he clutched his face, staggering away from me and spluttering. Immediately, his companions turned away from Arthur and faced me. "Come on!" I spat. "Who's next?"

"Don't, Travis," Arthur managed to say, before laughter took over. He curled into a ball on the floor.

"Don't, Travis," one of the men mimicked. I took in his thousand-dollar suit and shiny shoes, and screwed up my face in disgust. Another rich, entitled bastard thinking he could shit on the rest of us. My fist shot out and connected with his stupid smirking mouth. His lip split against his teeth, and blood flew. I went in with the other fist, then the first one again, and he crumpled to his knees, coughing and bleeding. Two down, one to go. The last one wasn't so brave.

"All right! All right!" he cried, holding up both hands in surrender. "I'm sorry!"

The first one I'd smashed into the pole was coming back at me, but when I turned his way with my fists up, he took a step back, shaking his head. The train slowed and stopped, and the three of them staggered out of the doors, leaving a trail of bloody droplets behind them.

"Arthur!" I dropped to my knees. He was sitting up, no longer laughing, with blood dripping from his nose. His lips trembled, and his eyes were wide and scared. When I touched his shoulder, he flinched. Christ. "Arthur, it's okay. It's over."

"You looked like you wanted to kill them," he whispered.

I swallowed my instinctive response of "I wish I had," and forced the scowl off my face. "I just wanted to get them away from you and show them they can't treat someone like that," I said instead.

"They were drunk."

"That's no excuse. I was drunk last night. I didn't go out bullying and beating people."

"You were drunk?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it later. Let's get you up. Don't be scared of me, Arthur. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I know. I guess I just—seeing you like that made me think of, um, something else. You were so violent."

"I'm sorry." I helped him up, sat him on one of the seats, and rescued his bag and its contents, which were strewn across the floor. I sat beside him and held his hand. Fuck anybody who got on the train and dared to even look at us wrong. "Are you badly hurt?"

"No. Just bruises."

"You said that last time, but it's more than that."

He pulled his hand free and searched in his bag for some tissues to dab at his bleeding nose. "I'll be okay."

"I hate seeing them hurt you. They're scum. They think they can do whatever they want, just because they have money. It's worse than New York."

"Please don't get in trouble for me," Arthur said in a small voice. "I'm not worth it. You don't want to end up back in Arkham."

"No, I don't, but I'm not gonna sit back and watch things like that either." I rested my hand on his knee. "I care about you too much. And you are worth it. I'm sorry I wasn't there this morning."

"Where were you? Did you work later? Oh, you said you were drunk." He glanced sideways at me. "What happened?"

"I was having a tough day. A tough week, actually."

"You seemed fine every morning."

"You remember once you told me Penny said always to put on a happy face? Yeah, I was doing that. I'm sorry."

"Travis, you don't have to protect me. I of all people understand what it's like to be depressed, and scared, and feel like the world's crushing you." He took my hand again and squeezed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were really down, and I didn't want to make things worse. Apparently, last night I thought getting drunk was a better idea. I was home, but I guess I was unconscious."

"You wouldn't have made things worse. I'd have probably pulled myself together so I could be of some help to you, or at least try to be." He turned his head to look at me properly, his green eyes soft in his painted face. "Promise you will tell me next time?"

"I promise." I grinned. "What does that paint taste like?"

"Um, sort of powdery. Why?"

"Because I can't wait until we get home to kiss you." I leaned in and brushed my lips over his. It was only a light caress, but I wanted the contact. He was right—the paint tasted powdery, but there was also the metallic taste of blood. I drew back. "I bought you a present today."

"A present? It's not my birthday."

"I just wanted to. I felt bad for not being around this morning. I know you had a hard week, too."

Arthur smiled. "I've never had a present just because. I've not had many presents at all. Penny was too sick to go out and buy anything. What is it?"

"You'll have to wait until we get home to find out," I teased. "Have I got paint on me?"

"No." He frowned. "Just blood. Sorry." He lifted the end of his tie and wiped my lips with it. "Thank you for helping me."

"I'll always do that if you need it."

The train pulled up and I got to my feet. "This is our stop. Let's go home."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

We went to Arthur's apartment. He wanted to clean up, wash the paint off his face, and change clothes. I sat in the living room and lit a cigarette. As I glanced around the room, I noticed that more things had disappeared. Other than the furniture, and a stack of video tapes next to the TV with "Murray Franklin" and various guests' names written on the labels, there wasn't much left.

"I've been clearing out Penny's stuff," Arthur said. "I had to do it a little at a time. There was a lot. Do you want some coffee?"

"Not right now. Come and sit down."

He sat, his knee bumping mine.

"Are you all right?"

"I will be." His knees bounced. He pressed his hands on them to stop it.

"Did I make things worse?"

"No. I just worried you wouldn't stop, and you'd get locked up again."

"Those guys are only bruised a bit. Like what they did to you." I heard the beginnings of a growl in my voice and swallowed it. "Forget about them. It's just you and me now." I pulled the wallet in its paper bag out of my pocket and placed it in his hands. "I hope you like it."

His expression changed immediately, and his lips stretched into a smile. "I still can't believe you bought me a present. I didn't get you anything."

"You don't have to. Open it."

He took out the wallet and ran his fingertips over the soft leather, then opened it and inspected the inside. "It's beautiful," he said. "This is the best present I've ever had."

I grinned. "I'm sure it's not. But I'm glad you like it."

"No, it is. It's exactly what I would choose for myself. I need one, too. You're so thoughtful, Travis." He picked up his old wallet from the table and began to move the items in it to the new wallet. He had a few bills, some coins, a transport card, a social services card, and a photo of Penny. He tore the photo into little pieces and dropped them into the ashtray. "Thank you."

I leaned over to kiss him, but he stood up and took my hand instead. He pulled me up and led me out of the room—into his bedroom.

My pulse quickened, and my dick twitched in my pants. Then I paused as it occurred to me he might be intending to do something because he felt he ought to, or that he owed me because I gave him a gift. I had some idea how his mind worked over certain things, but there were many layers in his head, and I wanted to make sure.

"Arthur." I caught his hands and stopped him unfastening his belt.

"You don't want to?"

"I want to make sure you want to. Don't do anything you don't want just because you feel you should. I gave you the wallet because I thought you'd like it, and I wanted to get you a present. I don't expect anything."

He smiled. "I know that. But we haven't done anything all week because I was too miserable. I was better this morning, and you were, um, asleep." He took a step closer and pressed his lips to my ear to whisper. "Shall I tell you how frustrated I've been all day? Until I got on the train, anyway."

"Damn." I slid my arms around him. "You know how to get me worked up."

"Let's lie down together." He pulled free and unfastened his pants. When he let them fall to the floor, I caught a glimpse of the bulge in his underwear, partly hidden by the front of his shirt. I followed his lead and took off my shoes and jeans. My erection tented my briefs obscenely, and I adjusted it so it rested upright against my belly. Arthur sat down and took off his socks—I did the same. Then he crawled into the middle of the bed, leaving his shirt on and fastened. I left mine on, too, and lay down with him.

Arthur didn't wait for me to kiss him. He slid closer to me and pressed his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and melted into the kiss. His tongue was in my mouth, lips crushing mine, and my arousal ramped up. If he wanted to instigate everything, it was fine with me. I'd never had it this way, but I wasn't complaining.

Something nudged my erection, and as Arthur broke the kiss to nibble my neck instead, I glanced down. I don't know what I expected to see bumping against my dick, but it wasn't the back of his hand, inside his underwear, as he stroked himself. I sucked in a breath. "You want me to do that for you?"

"Not right now. You don't mind, do you?"

"Mind? Christ, Arthur. That is the hottest fucking thing I've seen."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to my throat. Then he rolled onto his back, his hand still down his underwear, cupping himself. "Can you put your arms around me?"

I slid my arm under his neck, moved closer to his side, and rested my other arm across his chest. I kissed his ear, and nuzzled my face against his hair, but I kept my gaze down, watching. His hand began to move again, gently fondling himself. I couldn't really see anything. The glistening tip of his erection peeked out of the top of his underwear now and again, but mostly his hand was in the way. He didn't grip his shaft and jerk off, but idly stroked and squeezed, occasionally dipping his hand lower to caress his balls.

My erection strained against the waistband of my underwear, a wet patch forming around the head. I couldn't remember ever being so turned on in my life. Arthur, so shy and damaged and innocent, was masturbating next to me, and sending me to impossible levels of arousal. I pressed myself closer to him, letting him feel my hard-on against his thigh and in the process, getting a little friction. I could quite easily come just from that.

Arthur had his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes closed. Soft little grunts of pleasure issued from him as he pleasured himself, not increasing the pace, but clearly pushing himself towards orgasm. I groaned with frustration and excitement, desperate to touch myself too, but not letting myself. I concentrated only on him.

"Travis," he whispered, then. "I need to come so bad."

"Fuck," I breathed. I tightened my arms around him, and stared, panting along with him.

"I need more than this." Suddenly, he pushed his underwear down to his thighs, exposing himself. He wrapped a hand around his erection and jerked it quickly, while squeezing and tugging at his sac with the other. I took in every little detail—his glistening tip, swollen and red, his thick pale shaft, and neatly trimmed dark pubic hair. I groaned, and Arthur shot his load through his fist and onto his shirt. He stilled, then, and after a moment, quickly tucked himself back into his underwear and wiped his hand on the bed covers.

"You okay?" I murmured. My erection throbbed in frustration, but I ignored it, hoping he wouldn't freak out.

"I, um, shit!" He giggled and his already flushed face reddened more. "I can't believe I did that."

"You enjoyed it, though, right? I certainly did."

"Yeah, I just, um, I got carried away."

"That's okay. You can get carried away as much as you want when it's just you and me."

"I guess." He turned in my arms and met my eyes. He was okay, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I was desperate for some relief, but I didn't want to grab myself or rub up against him in case I spoiled things for him. I lay there, aching with frustration, wondering what to do next. Then Arthur's hand brushed over my damp underwear and cupped my erection. "How frustrated are you, from one to ten?"

I grinned. "Twelve. You're a tease, you know that?"

"No, I'm not. If I was a tease, I'd get up now and put my pants on, and tell you I need you to go." He slid his finger into the top of my underwear and ran it over the crown of my dick. I sucked in a breath. "I've been thinking about doing this. I want to see you come. Is that okay?"

"Jesus, fuck," I muttered. "You can do whatever you want, Arthur."

"Close your eyes, then."

I closed them and rolled onto my back again. Arthur moved around beside me and I realised he was sitting up. Then he hooked his thumbs into the sides of my briefs and pulled them down to mid-thigh. My dick bounced against my stomach. I pulled my shirt up a little out of the way. Then I waited for Arthur's touch, almost holding my breath, but forced to let out little gasps every so often. My erection twitched and jumped, and my thighs quivered. An interminable length of time seemed to go by, and with every passing second, my frustration increased.

Arthur chuckled. Then he rested a hand on my stomach and lightly stroked. I groaned and squirmed. I wouldn't have been surprised if I shot my load without him doing anything more than that, I was so on the edge.

He trailed his fingertips over my hip and down my thigh, then back up the inside of my leg until he reached my balls. My sac was drawn up tight, and when he cupped it and gently squeezed, I moaned and shuddered. "Please," I whispered, unable to help myself.

Arthur released me, then ran one finger along the side of my dick to the tip, and back down. "You're so hard." He placed a finger and his thumb either side of my shaft and stroked lightly upwards again. "I love doing this. It's not enough, is it?"

"I don't know about that. I'm so fucking close," I panted.

"Tell me you want me, Travis."

"Jesus." I licked my lips. "I want you so much, Arthur. So fucking much. You're all I want."

He wrapped his hand around me, just tight enough, and pumped me a few times, slow and firm. Fire licked up my spine, and I came hard, shooting up to the middle of my chest. Arthur loosened his grip and stroked me through it, rubbing his thumb over my slit until I had to push his hand off. I opened my eyes and he was sitting cross-legged beside me, smiling shyly.

"Was that okay?"

"It was more than okay, Arthur. You're amazing." I pulled my underwear back into place and sat up. My shirt was a mess and I took it off. I had a T-shirt on underneath.

"So are you." He leaned close and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. "You make me feel normal."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

We didn't move for a while. Even though we both needed to clean up, I didn't want to spoil the moment by pulling away, and Arthur didn't seem inclined to either. Eventually, we both laughed at the same time.

"I should—" Arthur began as I said, "I'd better clean up."

"You go first," he told me.

"Okay." I went to the bathroom and had a quick rinse, then returned to the bedroom and put on my pants while Arthur took his turn in the bathroom. I waited for him on the couch, in case he was suddenly embarrassed when he came out without his trousers on. When he joined me, he had on clean clothes. "Do you want to go out and get something to eat?" I suggested.

"No." He shook his head. "Can we get some food to bring back here?"

"Sure. What do you like?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've never had take-out. Penny and I could never afford it. We just had frozen dinners."

"You want me to go and get something?" I suggested. "I usually just get a burger or something like that."

"All right. I won't eat a lot anyway. I like chicken. I'll give you some money."

"No, you won't." I gave him a quick kiss and headed out.

There was a fast food restaurant a couple of blocks away, and I collected food from there. I chose a large burger with all the trimmings for myself, and a fried chicken sandwich for Arthur, both with fries. I got drinks, too. When I got back, Arthur was watching Murray Franklin on TV. He fetched some plates while I opened the paper bag of food.

"Do you want coke or lemonade?" I asked. "I got both, I didn't know which you'd like."

"Lemonade, please."

"Great." I passed him the drink. I preferred coke.

Arthur ate the entire chicken sandwich, much to my surprise, and a few of the fries. Then he took a handful of pills, which he explained were one of each of five of the medications he had to take.

"I'll take the sleeping pills later," he added.

"I threw mine away once." I slid my arm around him as he sat beside me. "It was after a bad nightmare. I told myself I wouldn't use them again, but then I got a new prescription right after."

"Do you have those dreams often?"

"Only when I take two pills and knock myself out. If I'm unconscious from drinking, it doesn't happen." I chuckled.

He lit two cigarettes and passed me one, then looked at his watch. "Don't you have to go to work soon?"

"I'd rather stay with you. It won't hurt to have another night off, and it's the only time I get to spend with you."

"Are you going to stay with me all night?" He rested his head against my shoulder, and I hugged him tighter.

"Yes, if you want me to."

"You'd better have one of my pills, then." He got up and fetched the anti-depressants that I took.

"I can't keep taking your meds."

"You can if you're here. It's the same one. If I run out before my next prescription comes, I'll have a couple of yours."

"Fair enough." I dry-swallowed the pill.

Arthur sat back down with one leg tucked under him, facing me. "There's something else I want to tell you." He sucked on his cigarette and tipped his head back to blow the smoke upwards.

"Sounds serious." I switched my attention from the very boring actor who was a guest on the Murray Franklin show, and looked at Arthur.

"Yeah. I think you know most things about me except this, but I know you must have wondered about it because you saw my wrists at least once." He pulled up one shirt sleeve enough to uncover his wrist, so I could see the long vertical scar. He showed me the other, then pulled both cuffs down.

"Yes, I've seen them. I assumed you'd tell me when you were ready to." I took his hand and squeezed it.

"Thanks for not asking. It was about six months ago, the last time."

"The last time? Are you saying you did this more than once?"

He nodded. "Three times. The first time it was because I was on the wrong meds. I felt a lot worse than I do now on a bad day. I couldn't see a way out of the darkness. I used a razor blade, but I didn't lock the bathroom door, and Penny found me before I lost too much blood. The second time I was at work. I had a different job then, but doing the same thing, working as a clown. The company went out of business. I was already on a downward spiral when they told me I didn't have a job anymore. I didn't really think about it. The others had all left, I thought. I was in the office, or the dressing room, whatever you want to call it. I guess I passed out, but the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. One of my old co-workers was still there, and he found me. He thought I was crazy."

"God, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

His cigarette had burned down to the filter. I took it from him and lit another for him. "What about the last time?"

"Here. Again." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I took a beating from some kids in the street. Caring for Penny was getting on top of me. I had no one to care for me or even talk to. I always put on a happy face for her, but nobody did that for me. I was wondering what the point of it all was. You know that feeling, right?"

"Yes, I know."

"I almost ended up in Arkham that time. We'd have got to know each other sooner." He burst into loud laughter. It took a while for it to stop, by which time tears were trickling down his face. "I didn't even want to die that time. I just wanted the pain in here to stop." He tapped his head. "I guess there are some wires crossed in my head somewhere. I'm sorry if I spoiled tonight. I just wanted you to know the last bad thing about me before we go any further. So, you can change your mind, if you want to."

"I'm not gonna change my mind." I leaned forward and tugged him into my arms. After a moment of shuffling around, he pressed against me, his legs draped over mine. "I'm glad you told me. However hard things are you can always tell me."

"I won't do it again," he whispered.

"I know. You have me now."

"We have each other," Arthur corrected. "You have tough times, too. I know it seems like I'm crazy and fragile, but I'm not, most of the time. I can help you, too."

"You do help me. I never thought I'd find somebody to be with like this either." I pressed my face into his neck and held him tighter. Feelings bubbled up in me that I hadn't experienced in years; maybe some that I'd never experienced, too. I could see a future for myself for the first time—a future where I might have a chance of being happy, at least some of the time.

"I remember the day I got out of Arkham," I said. "It wasn't even that long ago, really. I turned around and looked at the building and wondered what the point was. I'd been in there five years being rehabilitated and I kept asking myself why they bothered to keep me alive when the taxpayer had to fund all that for me. All I had was a single outfit that I wore when I left, a few bills for essentials, a cheque from my dad, and a key and an address to my place down the hall."

"You must have been lonely," Arthur murmured.

"Yeah. I saw you that day, in your clown outfit, dancing outside a store. Our eyes met, and you took a step back, like you were wary of me. Then I got here and the first time I ran into Sophie, she did the same thing. I went to the yellow cab office to try to get a job, and the guy in there looked at me like I was there to rob the place. It made things seem even more pointless."

"I'm sorry." Arthur ran his hand over my mohawk and kissed my cheek. "I like this now."

"Me too."

We tried to watch TV for a while but having Arthur in my arms and draped across my lap was too much of a distraction. He kept nuzzling my neck and kissing my cheek, and when I eventually turned my head and our lips met, things quickly grew heated again.

I broke the kiss, already breathless. "You want to go to bed?"

"Yes." He got up quickly. "I'll get ready. Just give me a minute."

I stayed where I was while he went to the bathroom, then emerged in pyjama pants and a T-shirt. I took my turn in the bathroom, used the spare toothbrush in the cupboard, and stripped down to my T-shirt and underwear. Arthur was in bed when I joined him, the covers pulled up to his chin, and the bedside lamp on. I slid into the bed and lay on my side, facing him. I was still half hard from kissing him, but I didn't expect anything more to happen.

"Will you turn the light off?"

"Sure." I flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness. When I turned back to face Arthur, he shuffled closer and pressed himself against me. I gasped when I felt he was naked from the waist down, and harder than I was. "What happened to your pants?"

"I don't need them, do I?" He chuckled and slipped a hand under my T-shirt. "Aren't you going to take this off?"

I didn't hesitate to wriggle out of both garments and toss them off the side of the bed. I knew Arthur wasn't comfortable about having his upper body uncovered, so I said nothing about the fact that he kept his T-shirt on. Instead, I pulled him into my arms and kissed him. He ran his hand up and down my back, then gradually lower until he was stroking my arse with light touches. My skin pebbled with goose bumps, and my dick throbbed. I rolled him onto his back and slid across him, nudged his legs apart with my knee so I could rest between them. My erection pressed against his, and we both groaned. He pulled his knees up either side of me, and brought our lips together, thrusting his tongue into my mouth in a searing kiss.

All I could think about in that moment, was reaching down to prepare him, and sliding my aching shaft into his body. It had been so long, and every time before it had been rushed, trying to get it over with so as not to be caught. I had all the time in the world with Arthur, and I wanted him so badly it made me ache. But even though I was between his legs, I doubted he was ready for that. He was so innocent, and we'd done nothing more than touch each other so far. Instead, I lifted my hips a little and slid my hand between us. I curled my fingers around him and me together, and stroked slowly and lightly, the way he liked it. He shuddered and dug his nails into my back.

I pulled my lips from his and grinned. "You like that?"

"Fuck, yes."

"Me too." I rubbed my palm over both our tips and used the precome gathering there to ease the way. My erection slid against his, the friction from both him and my fist pushing me far too rapidly towards orgasm. I wondered if it would always be like this with him. Somehow, he just did something to me that drove me crazy. He was sexy as hell and he didn't even realise.

Afterwards, I used my underwear to clean us up, and wrapped myself around Arthur again, my chest to his back, my face tucked into his hair. For once, I didn't think I would have much trouble sleeping. He was good for me, and I hoped I was good for him too.


End file.
